TWICE 
AR9UND  THE  VdRLD 


EDGAR  ALLEN  FORB 


I 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSIT-    ')<-• 
CALIFUKNTT* 

SAf   DIEGO 


•* 


Twice  Around  the  World 


BY  THE   SAME   AUTHOR 


The 
Land  of  the  White  Helmet 

356  pp.    56  illustrations  and  maps 
$130  net 

The  summing  up  of  a  year's  labori- 
ous work  in  the  Dark  Continent  by  a 
man  trained  to 'observe  the  significant 
and  the  entertaining  facts  of  life. 


COMMENT 

A  dash  of  Kipling,  and  a  personal  and  literary 
charm  that  is  Edgar  Allen  Forbes. — Washington 
Star. 

The  most  interesting  book  on  Africa  since 
Henry  M.  Stanley's  "  Through  the  Dark  Con- 
tinent."— The  Watchman. 

Instead  of  being  verbally  arrayed  in  pompous 
frock  coat  and  silk  hat  of  pseudo-literature,  it 
comes  to  us  garbed  in  the  vernacular  and  looks 
us  in  the  eye  while  it  addresses  us — Everybody's 
Magazine. 

A  new  note  in  travel  books.  Unfamiliar  Africa 
described  by  a  man  with  eyes  in  his  head  and 
snappy  English  at  his  command.  .  .  .  He  has 
written  about  it  because  he  had  something  to  say. 
And  he  says  it  with  a  colloquial  incisiveness  that 
is  evidently  spontaneous  and  refreshingly  effective. 
— J.  B.  Kerfoot  in  Life. 


Twice  Around  the 
World 


By 
EDGAR  ALLEN  FORBES 

Author  of 
"The  Land  of  the  White  Helmet" 


'Coastwise — cross-seas — round  the  world  and  back  again1 


NEW  YORK  CHICAGO  TORONTO 

Fleming    H.    Revell    Company 

LONDON        AND         EDINBURGH 


Copyright,  1912,  by 
FLEMING  H.  REVELL  COMPANY 


New  York:  158  Fifth  Avenue 
Chicago:  125  N.  Wabash  Ave. 
Toronto:  25  Richmond  St.,  W. 
London:  21  Paternoster  Square 
Edinburgh:  100  Princes  Street 


TO  HER 

WHOSE    FAREWELL   CAME 

WITH   THE   GOLDEN    SUNSET   AT 

DIAMOND  HARBOUR— AND 

TO   THE   BOY   SHE 

LEFT  BEHIND 


PREFACE 

IN  the  old  Dream  Days,  you  remember — "  ah !  them 
was  the  happy  days  " — you  lay  out  under  the  summer 
sun  and  watched  the  fleecy  clouds  go  sailing  across 
the  infinite  blue.  In  the  far  distance,  where  the  sky 
curved  downward  and  dropped  behind  the  line  of 
green,  you  saw  Your  Ship — your  golden  galleon 
freighted  with  its  bounding  hopes — beating  out  to  the 
open  sea.  Its  gleaming  topsail  was  bulging  with  the 
winds  of  Fortune  as  it  sank  below  the  horizon.  And 
then  you  fell  a-dreaming  of  the  things  that  you  should 
do  with  the  golden  guldens  that  should  make  real  the 
dreams  of  youth  on  that  gladsome  day — the  day  Your 
Ship  came  in! 

One  of  those  early  dreams  was  a  cruise  around  the 
world,  the  world  that  then  seemed  so  far  away.  Your 
fancy  saw  it  as  a  skyline  of  minarets  and  pagodas  and 
pinnacles,  as  a  panorama  of  the  yellow  and  the  brown 
and  the  black  in  quaint  and  resplendent  costumes,  as 
a  menagerie  of  elephants  and  camels  and  tigers.  Your 
ear  caught  the  call  of  the  muezzin,  the  drone  of  the 
shorn  priest  beneath  the  tinkling  temple  bells,  the  clang 
of  the  cymbals  in  the  Orient  theatre,  the  jingle  of  the 
anklets  in  the  dance  hall,  the  piping  of  the  cobra- 
charmer,  the  guttural  growl  of  the  camel,  the  hoarse 
trumpeting  of  the  elephant,  and  the  long,  piercing 
note  of  the  jungle-bird.  To  your  nostrils  came  the 
smoke  of  incense,  the  perfume  of  sandalwood,  the 
spice-laden  breezes  of  emerald  isles  in  summer  seas. 
Oh,  it  was  a  wonderful  world,  and  you  would  sail 
around  it  and  see  it  all — you,  when  Your  Ship  came  in ! 

.Well,  here  it  is — the  Voyage  of  your  Dreams ! 

E.  A.  F. 

5 


REVEILLE— STEAMSHIP  "CLEVELAND" 


ir"* 


pE^?frf^ 
jjti     \ji  az 


* 


Awake,  ye  sleepers,  large  and  small, 
The  darkness  flees  into  the  west ; 

The  Captain  greets  you,  one  and  all, 
Awake,  ye  sleepers,  from  your  rest! 

I'm  very  loth,  my  gentle  friends, 
To  summon  you  from  pleasant  dreams; 

But  it  is  time  you  should  arise, 
Awake !    The  sun  in  gladness  beams ! 


CONTENTS 

I.  ONE  WORLD-CRUISER  TO  ANOTHER   ....  13 

II.  THE  LOG  OF  A  GLOBE-TROTTER        ....  21 

III.  OH,  LOOK  WHO'S  HERE  !  .....  35 

IV.  UNDER  THE  CASTLE  OF  HAMBURG     ....  39 
V.  MADEIRA,  VINTAGE  OF  ANTIQUITY    .        *        .        .  49 

THE  ORIENT 

VI.    THE  SEA  OF  DARING  ADMIRALS  ....  57 

VII.     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  VESUVIUS  .  ....  69 

VIII.     THE  GATEWAY  OF  DE  LESSEPS  .        .  76 

IX.     THROUGH  THE  LAND  OF  GOSHEN  ....  83 

X.    THE  PASSAGE  OF  THE  RED  SEA  ....  93 

ACROSS  INDIA 

XI.     BOMBAY,  PARSEE,  AND  KIPLING         ....      97 
XII.    ACROSS  INDIA  WITH  "KiM" IO7 

XIII.  AFTERGLOW  OF  MOGHUL  SPLENDOUR         .        .        .119 

XIV.  WITHIN  DELHI'S  KASHMERE  GATE     .        .        .        .127 
XV.    THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  CAWNPORE  WELL      .        .        .     135 

XVI.  THE  BANNER  ON  LUCKNOW'S  ROOF  .        .        .        .     139 

XVII.  "OLDEST  OF  EARTH'S  CITIES" 147 

XVIII.  "THE  CITY  OF  DREADFUL  NIGHT"          .        .        .159 

XIX.  ON  "THE  ROOF  OF  THE  WORLD"    .        .        .        .165 

XX.  BY  THE  OLD  RANGOON  PAGODA        ....     173 

FARTHEST  EAST 

XXI.    THE  GATE  TO  THE  UTTERMOST  EAST        .        .        .181 

XXII.     CROSSING  THE  EQUATORIAL  LINE      .        .        .        .187 

XXIII.     IN  THE  MALAY  ARCHIPELAGO 197 

7 


8 


CONTENTS 


XXIV.  INSULINDE'S  EMERALD  PARADISE  . 

XXV.  A  NEW  FLAG  IN  MANILA  BAY    . 

XXVI.  FROM  VICTORIA  PEAK,  HONG  KONG 

XXVII.  KOWLOON  TO  CANTON  BY  RAIL   . 

XXVIII.  IN  THE  NEW  REPUBLIC  OF  CHINA 

ACROSS  JAPAN 

XXIX.  NAGASAKI,  LAND  OF  BABIES 

XXX.  CRUISING  ON  THE  INLAND  SEA    . 

XXXI.  KOBE,  A  JAPANESE  HOBOKEN 

XXXII.  KYOTO,  THE  SOUL  OF  JAPAN 

XXXIII.  NARA,  THE  DEER-EST  OF  ALL 

XXXIV.  A  JAPANESE  CONEY  ISLAND 
XXXV.  BY  THE  CASTLE  OF  NAGOYA 

XXXVI.  THE  WILES  OF  YOKOHAMA  . 

XXXVII.  BEFORE  BUDDHA  AT  KAMAKURA  . 

XXXVIII.  IN  THE  CITY  OF  THE  MIKADO 

XXXIX.  FUN  IN  A  JAPANESE  INN 

XL.  AT  THE  TOMB  OF  THE  SHOGUNS 

OCEAN  WA  VES 

XLI.  HIGH  JINKS  ON  HIGH  SEAS 

XLII.  OUR  MID-PACIFIC  PARADISE 

XLIII.  "!F  I  HAD  ONLY  KNOWN!"       . 

XLIV.  GOLDEN  GATE  AND  SANDY  HOOK 


207 
209 

321 

225 

233 


243 
247 
249 
251 

255 
257 
261 
263 
267 
269 

277 
287 


291 
297 
307 
313 


INDEX 


S.  S.  CLEVELAND  IN  MANILA  BAY  (Liibeck  photo)  Frontispiece 

S.  S.  CLEVELAND  UNDER  FULL  STEAM  AHEAD     ...  20 

GLOBE-TROTTERS  IN  THE  ROOF-GARDEN  (Liibeck  photo)        .  20 

OFFICERS  OF  THE  S.  S.  CLEVELAND  (Liibeck  photo)    .        .  26 

MR.  A.  MARTINI,  PROVIDER  OF  JOYFUL  FOOD        ...  34 

MR.  C.  LODY,  MANAGER  OF  ACROSS-!NDIA  PARTIES       .        .  34 

MR.  C.  SCHERER,  SECOND  IN  COMMAND  OF  THE  CRUISE         .  34 

THE  REISEBUREAU  ON  AN  IDLE  DAY  (Liibeck  photo)      .        .  42 

MADEIRA:  WHY  BLAME  COLUMBUS  FOR  FLIRTING?          .        .  50 

MADEIRA:  "HOME  WAS  NEVER  LIKE  THIS!"          ...  50 

GIBRALTAR:  THE  ROCK  IN  THE  GREY  OF  DAWN      ...  56 

GIBRALTAR:  THE  NEUTRAL  GROUND  AND  LINEA      ...  56 

CAIRO:  THE  FIRST  GLIMPSE  OF  THE  SPHINX    ....  82 

CAIRO:  SEEING  THE  PYRAMIDS  BY  SUNLIGHT   ....  82 

CAIRO:  BUXOM  SORCERESSES  OF  THE  NILE        ....  88 

CAIRO:  WHAT  WOULD  RAMESES  THINK  OF  THIS?  ...  88 

CAIRO:  THE  ROCKY  UPHILL  ROAD  AT  CHEOPS        ...  92 

BOMBAY:  TAJ  MAHAL  PALACE  AND  APOLLO  BUNDER      •.        .  96 

BOMBAY:  LOOKING  DOWN  FROM  MALABAR  HILL       ...  96 

BOMBAY:  VULTURES  AT  THE  TOWERS  OF  SILENCE    .        .        .  106 

BOMBAY:  AUTHENTIC  BIRTHPLACE  OF  MR.  KIPLING          .        .  106 
BENARES:  "LITTLE  FRIEND  OF  ALL  THE  WORLD"          .        .no 

CALCUTTA:  KIM  AND  A  FAQUIR  OF  THE  TAKSALI  GATE  .        .  no 

AGRA:  FIRST  GLIMPSES  FROM  THE  ARCHWAY  ....  118 
AGRA:  THE  TAJ  MAHAL  FROM  THE  GREAT  GATEWAY     .        .118 

AGRA:  RAJPUTANA  BAND  PLAYING  "SUWANEE  RIVER"  .        .  122 

AGRA:  IT  HAPPENED  IN  THE  CITY  OF  THE  TAJ       .        .        .  122 

DELHI:  TRAIN-TIME  ON  THE  DELHI  PLATFORM        .        .        .  126 

DELHI:  PRAYER-MEETING  AT  THE  JUMMA  MASJID    .        .        .  126 

CAWNPORE:  THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  RESURRECTION      .        .        .  134 

LUCKNOW:  A  WATER-CARRIER  AT  THE  STATION       .        .        .  138 

LUCKNOW:  RESIDENCY  AND  THE  BANNER  OF  ENGLAND  .        .  138 

LUCKNOW:  HOSAINABAD,  "THE  PALACE  OF  LIGHTS"       .        .  143 


10  ILLUSTRATIONS 

BENARES:  WEIGHING  WOOD  FOR  THE  BURNING        .        .  .     146 

BENARES;  "Wno's  NEXT?"  ALONG  THE  GANGES     .        .  .     146 

SARNATH:  WHERE  BUDDHA  BEGAN  TO  TURN  THE  WHEEL  .     150 

BENARES:  "THE  LAST  INCARNATION" 154 

BENARES:  THE  END  OF  ANOTHER  CYCLE         .        .        .  .154 

BENARES:  RIDING  THE  MAHARAJAH'S  ELEPHANTS    .        .  .156 

CALCUTTA:  VENUS  EMERGING  FROM  THE  BATH        .        .  .     158 

CALCUTTA:  GLOBE-TROTTERS  UNDER  THE  BANYAN  TREE  .     160 

CALCUTTA:  SOOTHSAYER  PEERING  INTO  FRAWLEY'S  PAST  .     160 

CALCUTTA:  THE  GRAND  HOTEL,  FACING  THE  MAIDAN    .  .     162 

DARJEELING:  "HIMALAYAS  FLUSHED  IN  MORNING  GOLD"  .     164 

DARJEKLING:  TRAIN  ON  THE  HIMALAYAN  RAILWAY  .  .  164 
DARJEELING:  THE  SUNRISE  AT  TIGER  HILL  ....  168 
DARJEELING:  OUT  FOR  A  "(DANDY"  RIDE  ....  168 

RANGOON:  A  GONDOLA  ON  THE  RANGOON  RIVER    .        .  .172 

RANGOON:  A  MAIDEN  OF  THE  RANGOON  STREETS  .        .  .172 

RANGOON:  A  FAQUIR  AT  THE  FOOT  OF  BUDDHA     .        .  .     172 

RANGOON:  "So  MANY  TEMPLES  BUT  ONLY  ONE  GOD"  .  .     176 

RANGOON:  FLIPPING  THE  LIGHT  FANTASTIC  FINGER        .  .178 

RANGOON:  THE  MAN  FROM  SUPERIOR  FEELS  AT  HOME    .  .178 

SINGAPORE:  IN  THE  SHADE  OF  THE  ESPLANADE       .        .  .     180 

SINGAPORE:  THE  RAILWAY  STATION  AT  JOHORE      .        .  .180 

SINGAPORE:  FRIENDS  OF  YOUR  CRUISING  DAYS        .        .  .     182 

SINGAPORE;  A  KEEPER  OF  THE  KING'S  PEACE          .        .  .     182 

EQUATOR:  THE  CLEVELAND'S  CREW  IN  REGALIA          .  .     186 

EQUATOR:  REMOVING  THE  TAINT  OF  THE  NORTH    .        .  .186 

JAVA:  THE  LITTLE  PEACHERINAS  AT  BUITENZORG  .        .  .     196 

JAVA:  A  GROUP  OF  MALAYS  IN  SUNDAY  CLOTHES  .        .  .     196 

JAVA:  DANCING  GIRLS'  IDEA  OF  A  WILD  TIME        .        .  .    200 

JAVA;  IN  SEARCH  OF  THE  XANTHCERRHCEA  FREISSI     .  .    206 

MANILA:  BASEBALL  HAS  FOLLOWED  THE  FLAG        .        .  .     208 

MANILA:  THE  LITTLE  BROWN  BROTHER  IN  WHITE        .  .     208 

MANILA:  "JusT  GIVE  MY  REGARDS  TO  BROADWAY!"     .  .     212 

MANILA:  LITTLE  BROWN  SISTER  ACROSS  THE  SEA  .        .  .     216 

HONG  KONG:  THE  OUTLOOK  FROM  VICTORIA  PEAK         .  .     220 

HONG  KONG:  THE  INCLINED  RAILWAY  UP  THE  PEAK     .  .     220 

CANTON:  A  STREET  IN  THE  HEART  OF  THE  CITY   .        .  .     224 

CANTON:  CITIZENS  OF  THE  FIRST  ORIENTAL  REPUBLIC    .  .     232 

CANTON:  CHINA'S  WELCOME  TO  THE  AMERICANS      .        .  .     236 

NAGASAKI:  SISTER  FULLY  DRESSED  FOR  THE  STREET      .  .     242 


ILLUSTRATIONS  11 

INLAND  SEA:  JAPANESE  FISHERMAN  AT  SUNSET       .        .  .  246 

INLAND  SEA:  LOOKING  THROUGH  THE  SCRAGGLY  PINES  .  246 

KOBE;  JAPANESE  CHILDREN  IN  NEW  YEAR'S  DRESS         .  .  248 

KYOTO:  A  BUDDHIST  TEMPLE  DRAPED  IN  SNOW    .        .  .  250 

NARA:  A  LITTLE  DARLING  OF  THE  GODS         ....  254 

OSAKA;  ARISTOCRATIC  BEAUTIES  OUT  FOR  A  SPIN    .        .  .  256 

YOKOHAMA:  THE  JAPANESE  GIRL  AS  SHE  Is  NOT    .        .  .  262 

KAMAKURA:  "BE  GENTLE  WHEN  THE  'HEATHEN'  PRAY"  .  266 

TOKYO:  UNDERNEATH  THE  CHERRY  BLOSSOMS         .        .  .  268 

TOKYO:  MR.  AISAKU  HAYASHI,  OF  THE  IMPERIAL  .        .  .  272 

TOKYO:  THE  LITTLE  HEADS  ON  THE  MATTING        .        .  .  276 

OSAKA:  A  JAPANESE  INN  AMONG  THE  PINES    ....  276 

TOKYO:  "SAYONARA — SINCE  IT  MUST  BE  So"        .        .  .  282 

TOKYO:  A  DE-LUXE  ROOM  IN  A  JAPANESE  INN         .        .  .  282 

NIKKO:  THE  YELLOW  MAN  ALSO  HAS  A  BURDEN    .        .  .  286 

ANTIPODES:  THE  COMMITTEE  POSES  FOR  THE  CAMERA     .  .  290 

ANTIPODES:  THE  WILD  RACE  FOR  THE  BISCUIT       .        .  .  290 

ANTIPODES;  THE  WINNERS  THREADING  THE  NEEDLE       .  .  294 

ANTIPODES:  HAIR-DRESSING — A  SOLEMN  CEREMONY!        .  .  294 

HONOLULU:  A  BEAUTY  OF  THE  OLD  KANAKA  DAYS        .  .  296 

HONOLULU:  A  HULA  OF  THE  WIDE  AND  STARRY  SKY     .  .  302 

HONOLULU:  SWEET  GIRL  GRADUATES  OF  MANY  TYPES    .  .  304 

S.  S.  CLEVELAND:  THE  VOYAGE  OF  YOUR  DREAMS      .  .  312 


MAPS 

THE  ROUTE  OF  THE  CLEVELAND  CRUISE  .  .  End  papers 
THE  FIRST  AND  THE  LATEST  WORLD-CRUISE  .  .  -13 
LANDMARKS  OF  THE  STRAIT  OF  GIBRALTAR  .  .  .  .61 
To  CAIRO  FROM  PORT  SAID  AND  FROM  SUEZ  .  .  .  .75 
JACOB'S  LADDER  UP  THE  HIMALAYAS 169 


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u^O 


FROM  ONE  WORLD-CRUISER  TO  ANOTHER 

NEW  YORK,  October  i,  1912. 
Captain  Sebastian  Del  Cano, 

c/o  Commander  F.  Magellan, 
General  Delivery. 

MY  DEAR  SEBASTIAN  : 
Pardon  the  liberty  I  take  in  thus  addressing 
you.    I  have  for  so  long  been  accustomed  to 
speak  of  the  Commander  as  "  Magellan  "  or  "  Ferdi- 
nand "  that  I  fall  naturally  into  negligee  in  addressing 
his  First  Officer. 

I  am  writing  this  as  an  apology  for  a  great  wrong 
that  I  have  done  to  your  memory — a  wrong  of  which 
I  have  been  wholly  unconscious  until  now,  when  I 

have  myself  circumnavigated  the  globe  twice  and  for 

13 


14  TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

that  reason  acquired  a  keener  interest  in  the  musty 
records  of  the  seven  (plus)  seas. 

It  started  back  there  in  the  little  schoolhouse  on  the 
hill.  Teacher  told  me  that  Magellan  was  the  first 
man  to  circumnavigate  the  map — and  I  had  been 
brought  up  to  believe  everything  she  told  me,  even 
if  it  did  not  always  tally  with  the  answer  in  the  back 
of  the  book.  (I  have  learned  about  school-teachers 
in  these  later  years.)  And  so  I  have  gone  through 
life  praising  Ferdinand's  daring  and  seamanship,  and 
holding  him  up  to  the  young.  Here,  I  have  said,  was 
a  man  who  gritted  his  teeth  in  one  supreme  effort 
and  got  his  birthday  into  the  list  of  dates  that  all 
school-children  should  memorize  the  night  before  the 
examination  papers  are  to  be  filled  out. 

But  I  now  find,  to  my  amazement,  that  Ferdinand 
did  not  circumnavigate  the  globe  at  all!  Of  course 
his  intentions  were  good,  but  in  the  latitude  of  New 
York  intentions  do  not  count  for  much  unless  the 
goods  come  along  in  the  same  delivery.  Some  early 
historian  took  it  for  granted  that  he  would  have  girdled 
the  globe  if  he  had  not  been  killed  in  the  Philippines, 
and  so  entered  the  full  amount  on  the  credit  side  of 
his  account.  This  was  very  kind  of  him,  but  it  can 
hardly  be  called  good  bookkeeping. 

Nobody  knows  just  what  would  have  happened  if 
Magellan  had  been  lucky  (or  unlucky)  enough  to  get 
away  from  the  Philippines,  and  had  not  left  it  to  you 
to  bring  the  Vittoria,  back  into  port.  He  might  have 
run  the  boat  upon  a  coral  reef  down  on  the  Borneo 
coast  and  disappeared  from  history  before  he  got  his 


ONE  WORLD-CRUISER  TO  ANOTHER     15 

anchor  into  the  composing-room.  Or  he  might  have 
lost  the  compass  overboard  and  swung  back  the  way 
he  came.  Or  he  might  have  married  one  of  those 
little  brown  sisters  across  the  sea  and  become  the 
admiral  of  a  fleet  of  fishing  dayaks,  instead  of  finishing 
the  job  so  superbly  as  you  did. 

Now  you  can  understand,  Sebastian,  that  I  would 
not  take  away  one  jot  or  tittle  of  the  glory  that  came 
to  him  from  that  first  world-cruise.  My  grievance 
arises  solely  from  the  fact  that  I  have  been  deceived 
into  bestowing  all  my  praise  upon  Ferdinand,  whereas 
a  large  share  of  it  belongs  to  you.  Magellan  was  a 
great  man  of  the  sea — one  of  the  greatest  that  ever 
lived — but  he  did  not  circumnavigate  the  globe.  You 
were  the  No.  i  man  to  do  that — but  I  have  never 
heard  any  rising  young  Demosthenes  mention  the 
name  of  Del  Cano  in  his  graduating  speech.  I  can 
assure  you  that  I  feel  this  injustice  keenly  and  that 
I  shall  bring  it  to  the  attention  of  the  ship-reporters. 
The  last  part  of  your  name  sounds  very  much  like  a 
Latin  word  in  a  sign  that  says  "  Beware  of  the  dog!  " 
— and  the  historians  have  certainly  treated  you  like 
one. 

At  the  same  time  I  cannot  help  wondering,  Sebas- 
tian, if  you  really  were  the  first  man  to  get  all  the 
way  around  the  world.  When  you  went  sailing 
grandly  into  Seville,  you  remember,  you  were  stand- 
ing on  the  bridge  of  the  Vittoria,  so  that  every  senorita 
could  see  you  without  eye-strain.  But  was  there  not 
an  A.  B.,  clad  only  in  whiskers  and  in  trousers  made 
out  of  an  old  "  slicker,"  standing  up  front  at  the 


16  TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

anchor  chain?  If  so,  he  must  have  crossed  the  line 
about  three  seconds  ahead  of  you.  But  we  will  let 
that  pass. 

Columbus  and  Magellan,  you  and  WE — this  is  the 
proper  way  for  historians  to  head  the  list  of  great 
navigators.  I  have  had  lofty  statues  of  Christopher 
and  Ferdinand  pointed  out  to  me  here  and  yonder,  but 
I  have  heard  nothing  about  statues  of  you  and  us. 
Their  names  are  in  the  index  of  every  school  history — 
while  yours  and  ours  appear  only  in  the  passenger-list 
as  Among  Those  Present.  Surely  something  should 
be  done  about  this. 

I  have  been  looking  over  your  map  of  the  world- 
cruise,  Captain,  and  I  see  that  it  was  a  great  deal 
wetter  than  ours.  You  included  South  America  in 
your  itinerary — but  you  didn't  get  to  see  the  Sphinx 
by  moonlight.  I  am  also  surprised  that  Ferdinand  did 
not  take  you  by  way  of  Honolulu.  That  would  have 
broken  that  98-day  trip  on  the  Pacific,  and  our  experi- 
ence with  this  ocean  is  that  the  more  you  break  it  the 
better.  Besides,  there  is  a  Promotion  Committee  at 
Honolulu  that  hangs  roses  about  your  neck  and  other- 
wise proves  its  fitness  for  its  high  office. 

You  also  missed  the  chance  of  a  lifetime,  Sebastian, 
when  you  hurried  south-westward  from  the  Philip- 
pines instead  of  going  around  by  Japan.  You  might 
have  received  a  medal  from  the  Yokohama  Chamber 
of  Commerce,  and  had  an  interview  published  in  the 
Tokyo  Shimbun.  Then,  on  your  way  home,  you  could 
have  made  the  Overland  Trip  across  India  and  had 
something  impressive  to  tell  the  folks  at  Seville.  That 


ONE  WORLD-CRUISER  TO  ANOTHER     17 

is  the  big  show  of  the  whole  world-cruise,  and  I  don't 
understand  why  you  missed  it.  The  King  might  have 
given  you  another  medal  if  you  had  gone  up  to  see 
the  sunrise  on  Tiger  Hill  on  a  morning  that  was  not 
foggy.  Surely  you  were  not  the  kind  of  a  navigator 
to  be  turned  back  from  the  Red  Sea  route  because  the 
Suez  Canal  happened  to  be  full  of  hot  sand  in  the 
year  1521. 

In  looking  over  the  log  of  the  Vittoria,  I  see  that 
you  had  a  much  rougher  time  than  the  Cleveland. 
Your  sole  fresh-meat  supply  on  the  Pacific  seems  to 
have  come  from  the  rat-trap,  and  your  dried  beef  from 
the  raw-hide  coverings  of  the  sails  and  from  your 
last-year's  shoes.  I  note  also  the  item  of  sawdust  on 
your  bill-of-fare,  and  am  a  little  puzzled  to  think  how 
your  chef  served  it.  Was  it  a  break  fast- food  or  a 
dessert  ?  We  had  none  on  the  Cleveland  menu. 

But  there  is  one  thing  that  I  can  appreciate — your 
inconvenience  from  the  scarcity  of  fresh  water.  I 
often  experienced  it  myself  when  developing  films. 
But  your  cruise  differed  from  ours  in  the  requirement 
that  water  was  to  be  used  for  drinking  purposes.  We 
saved  our  fresh  water  by  the  simple  provision  of  a 
grill-room  and  a  small  booth  labelled  "  Zum  durstigen 
Elephanten" 

But  the  management  of  your  cruise  had  some  de- 
cided advantages  over  ours.  I  see  that  whenever  any- 
body became  peevish  and  used  strong  language  to  the 
Tourist  Bureau,  you  had  only  to  hold  up  three  fingers. 
The  offender  was  then  promptly  strung  up  by  the 
thumbs  until  he  was  sorry  that  he  said  it.  And  if  any- 


18  TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

body  objected  to  the  quantity  of  cubic  feet  in  his  state- 
room, you  could  lock  him  in  it  and  forget  to  send  him 
his  sawdust  and  bouillon.  My  recollection  is  that 
Ferdinand  once  even  cut  off  the  heads  of  some  persons 
who  objected  to  the  way  the  cruise  was  being  managed. 
The  navigation  laws  have  been  changed  since  then. 
This  explains  why  the  Cleveland  finished  both  cruises 
with  the  same  number  of  heads  that  it  started  with. 

I  see  by  the  press  clippings  that  your  little  wind- 
jammer made  the  same  big  splash  that  we  did  in  every 
port — that  is,  in  every  one  that  had  its  harbour  cleaned 
out  deep  enough  for  us  to  get  within  sight  of  the  dock. 
The  same  bunch  of  natives  that  you  mention  was 
lined  up  on  the  bank  when  we  came  along.  This  was 
natural,  for  they  had  never  seen  a  ship  as  large  as 
ours  in  their  little  harbours  before.  Why,  even  at 
San  Francisco  the  police  reserves  had  to  be  called  out 
to  keep  10,000  curious  natives  from  swamping  our 
boat. 

But  you  had  a  much  finer  finish  than  we  did.  When 
we  sidled  up  to  the  last  port  and  saw  the  crowd  of 
newspaper  men,  we  anticipated  a  reception  like  yours 
— but  all  that  the  reporters  wanted  to  know  was,  Who 
got  married  on  the  cruise  ?  Nobody  pressed  upon  us  a 
coat-of-arms  or  pinned  medals  on  us,  except  at  Yoko- 
hama— and  there  the  honour  could  be  traced  to  the  fact 
that  we  were  expected  to  pay  300  per  cent,  more  for 
all  the  kimonos  we  bought  in  the  bazaars. 

Why,  when  we  came  in  to  San  Francisco  and  New 
York,  the  vexatious  folks  who  had  old  bills  against  us 
actually  asked  for  the  money,  just  as  if  we  had  not 


ONE  WORLD-CRUISER  TO  ANOTHER     19 

been  around  the  world  at  all !  But,  speaking  in  heart- 
felt seriousness,  Sebastian,  it  surely  is  a  great  comfort, 
even  for  no  days,  to  be  "  away  back  from  everybody 
that  ye  owe  any  money  to."  If  that  fact  were  properly 
appreciated,  world-cruises  would  soon  become  plentiful 
— and  much  longer. 

You  would  have  felt  quite  at  home,  Captain,  if  you 
had  been  with  us  on  the  Cleveland.  It  is  the  same  old 
world  that  you  went  around.  The  native  is  still  wear- 
ing the  same  clothes — "  nothing  much  before,  an' 
rather  less  than  'arf  o'  that  be'ind  " — and  he  dresses 
his  hair  in  the  same  careless  fashion  every  full  moon. 
He  also  lives  and  loves  and  lies  in  the  same  reckless 
manner,  but  possibly  with  more  ease  and  grace. 

But  the  world  has  moved  along  some.  You  cannot 
now  exchange  a  vest-pocket  mirror  for  half  a  quart 
of  emeralds  in  any  port  the  Cleveland  visited.  Nor  is 
there  now  any  danger  of  a  warrior  pounding  you  on 
the  head  with  a  bludgeon  and  taking  away  your  jack- 
knife.  They  do  the  trick  quite  differently  now,  through 
a  member  of  the  fraternity  known  as  a  "  private 
guide."  You  engage  his  services  for  a  tour  of  the 
historic  points  of  interest — and  he  takes  you  straight 
to  thirteen  jewel-merchants,  eleven  silk  stores,  and 
sixteen  other  places  where  money  may  be  spent  in 
quantity.  And  when  you  have  paid  340  rupees  for  a 
scarf-pin  that  would  cost  nine  cents  in  New  York,  the 
guide  is  peevish  if  you  do  not  pay  him  a  10  per  cent, 
commission  for  having  led  you  to  the  bargain-counter. 

When  this  Oriental  hears  that  a  party  of  five  hun- 
dred is  coming  along  he  begins  to  plan  how  to  spend 


20  TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

all  that  money  that  he  is  going  to  make  on  fat  com- 
missions. But  it  is  a  sad  day  for  that  eternally 
springing  hope  when  a  resolute  manager  lines  up 
the  carriages  in  front  of  the  hotel  and  the  guide 
gets  his  orders  to  follow  the  horses  in  front  of  him. 
Only  the  comforts  of  religion  can  sustain  a  native 
in  face  of  a  bitter  disappointment  like  that. 

When  I  write  again,  I  shall  tell  you  of  the  tre- 
mendous changes  that  have  taken  place  in  Manila 
since  you  and  Ferd  were  there.  In  several  places 
along  the  Escolta,  for  instance,  you  can  now  buy  real 
ice-cream  soda.  I  find  no  mention  of  it  in  the  log  of 
the  Vittoria. 

Sincerely  yours, 

EDGAR  ALLEN  FORBES. 

P.S.  I  notice  in  the  Seville  papers  that  His  Majesty 
bestowed  upon  you  a  coat-of-arms,  consisting  of  a 
globe  and  the  motto  "  Primus  Circiimdedisti  Me " 
— which  seems  to  mean :  "  You  are  the  first  fellow  that 
ever  got  around  me."  Since  there  is  no  copyright 
notice  on  the  design,  I  am  adopting  it  as  a  family  crest, 
merely  changing  the  word  "  Primus  "  to  "  Bis  " — 
which  I  am  told  on  good  authority  means  "  Twice." 


THE    LOG 


II 

THE  LOG  OF  A  GLOBE-TROTTER 

EOK  on  your  inside  hat-band  and  you  will  see  a 
small  label — 6%,  perhaps.  Look  also  on  that 
part  of  your  collar  which  embraces  the  back  of 
your  neck  and  you  will  see  another — mine  is  15^2. 
These  two  statistics  are  not  of  the  remotest  interest 
to  the  Sicilian  who  renovates  my  hat  or  to  the  Mon- 
golian who  cracks  the  flaps  of  my  collar  in  ironing  it — 
but  they  are  of  tremendous  importance  to  me  when  I 
go  to  the  bazaar  to  buy  new  ones  and  the  clerk  asks, 
"What  number?" 

Now  the  person  who  buys  (or,  more  likely,  borrows) 
this  book  to  fire  the  imagination  or  to  gain  a  broader 
culture  will  find  this  chapter  of  as  little  interest  as  the 
"  Situations  Wanted  "  columns  of  a  newspaper  are  to 
the  woman  who  is  looking  for  "  Apartments  To  Let — 
Unfurnished."  That  is  why  it  is  in  smaller  type. 

But  to  world-cruisers  who  are  back  at  the  old  stand, 
it  has  the  permanent  interest  of  the  White  House  Cook- 
book. When,  for  instance,  the  Queen  Bee  wants  to 
know  quickly  whether  she  passed  Stromboli  just  be- 
fore going  into  Rangoon,  or  whether  it  was  chillier  in 
the  Red  Sea  than  on  the  Equator,  or  whether  Hono- 
lulu is  three  hundred  or  thirty  thousand  miles  from 

21 


22  TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

Yokohama,  then  this  chapter  will  rise  into  great  popu- 
larity. Incidentally,  it  may  help  with  the  revision  of  a 
few  diaries. 

And  that  happy  man  who  is  now  preparing  to  globe- 
trot— this  is  the  chapter  which  he  will  paste  in  his  hat. 
Then,  when  he  sees  a  pilot  coming  up  out  of  the  muddy 
water  at  the  mouth  of  the  Hooghly  and  wonders  if  he 
will  have  time  to  run  to  his  stateroom  and  change  his 
collar  before  landing,  he  will  look  in  his  hat  and  dis- 
cover that  he  has  about  twenty  hours  before  the  anchor 
goes  splashing  into  Diamond  Harbour. 

For  much  of  the  official  information  herein,  all  of 
us  are  much  indebted  to  the  unfailing  kindness  of  Chief 
Officer  Kruse,  who  reeled  it  off  patiently  from  the  Log- 
Book  of  the  Cleveland.  It  is  therefore  more  accurate 
than  if  I  had  sat  up  nights  to  enter  it  in  my  notebook, 
and  also  more  nearly  complete. 

For  the  lamentable  fact  that  the  chapter  contains  so 
few  personal  details  about  certain  passengers  whom 
you  know,  you  must  put  the  blame  on  the  publisher. 
He  has  insisted  upon  inserting  in  the  contract  a  clause 
which  enjoins  me  from  writing  "  anything  scandalous 
or  libelous,  or  any  other  injurious  or  hurtful  matter  or 
thing " — a  fatal  limitation  on  the  log  of  a  world- 
cruise  !  This  chapter  will  therefore  be  of  small  interest 
to  the  Grand  Jury  or  to  the  Sewing  Circle. 

DREAM   VOYAGE   No.   I— EASTWARD 

NEW  YORK,  Oct.  21,  1911. — Raining  cats  and  dogs  and  farewell 
kisses.  Great  time  getting  over  to  Hoboken  with  extra  bundles 
that  wouldn't  go  into  the  trunks.  Ma  fretful  and  talkative;  Pa 
ain't  saying  nothing,  but  he  looks  it. 


THE  LOG  OF  A  GLOBE-TROTTER         23 

HOBOKEN,  Oct.  21. — Last  "All  ashore!"  at  9:30.  Percy  kiss- 
ing Flossie  good-bye  until  9:50;  then  wireless  kisses  from  the 
moist  dock.  The  clock  strikes  four  bells.  Somebody  gives  the 
whistle-cord  four  long  pulls  to  let  the  world  know  who's  com- 
ing. Band  on  the  promenade  deck  plays  the  sailors'  national 
anthem:  "Muss  Ich  Denn,  Muss  Ich  Denn."  We  back  out  and 
start  the  usual  contest  of  seeing  which  side  can  keep  the  hand- 
kerchief waving  longest.  Somebody  on  the  dock .  whistling, 
"  My  Wife's  Gone  to  the  Country,  Hooray !  Hooray ! " 

Sudden  commotion  on  the  pier!  A  tall,  dark  man  excitedly 
waving  an  unpaid  bill  and  mussing  up  his  hair.  Two  hundred 
passengers  at  the  Cleveland's  rail  recognize  the  bill  and  wave 
"  Auf  wiedersehn!" 

AT  SEA,  Oct.  21-28. — Reading  Percy's  steamer-letters.  Sizing 
up  one  another.  Athletic  sports  with  deck-stewards  over  loca- 
tion of  steamer-chairs.  Busy  days  for  the  Hall  of  Refresh- 
ment. 

MADEIRA,  Oct.  29. — Arrived  Funchal  at  7  A.M.  Sunday,  but 
Madeira  is  at  the  pier  instead  of  at  church.  Senoritas  look  in- 
teresting, but  Mamma  is  strictly  on  the  job.  After  joy-riding  in 
ox-sleds,  sailed  at  3  P.M. 

GIBRALTAR,  Oct.  31. — Glorious  dawn  and  brilliant  sunrise  came 
up  from  behind  the  Moroccan  mountains  as  we  came  in  from 
the  southwest.  Anchored  in  the  Bay  at  8  A.M.  Landed  in  large 
tender.  Sailed  at  i  P.M. 

VILLEFRANCHE,  Nov.  2. — Passed  along  the  waterfront  of  Nice 
at  3  P.M.  The  Promenade  des  Anglais  decorated  with  American 
flags.  Anchored  at  4  P.M.  Landing  in  small  row-boats. 

Everybody  at  Monte  Carlo  as  soon  as  the  doors  were  open. 
Plenty  of  winning  but  most  of  us  stayed  in  the  game  too  long. 
Wise  little  Quakeress  from  Philadelphia  puts  down  a  dollar  and 
picks  up  thirty  at  the  first  dash — then  quits ! 

Sailed  from  Villefranche  Nov.  3  at  n  A.M. 

MEDITERRANEAN,  Nov.  3-7. — Nov.  3,  passed  Corsica  (Na- 
poleon's birthplace)  and  Elba  (place  of  exile),  and  Monte 


24  TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

Cristo  about  8  P.M.  Nov.  4,  volcano  of  Stromboli  at  5 130  P.M. 
Between  Scylla  and  Charybdis  at  8:05  and  entered  Strait  of 
Messina.  Messina  at  8:25.  Passed  Mt.  JEtna.  too  late. 

PORT  SAID,  Nov.  7. — Another  magnificent  dawn,  but  nobody 
on  deck  to  see  it.  Damiette  Light  at  5:30  A.M.  Anchored  near 
the  Canal  Offices  at  9  A.M.  First  intimate  acquaintance  with  the 
Oriental  at  home.  Nothing  much  to  see  here  except  from  the 
ship.  Special  trains  to  Cairo  left  at  1:20  P.M.  and  2:35  P.M. 
Five  hours'  run  along  the  Canal  to  Ismailia  and  then  through 
the  Land  of  Goshen.  Dinner  at  Shepheard's  and  the  Con- 
tinental. 

CAIRO,  Nov.  7-10. — Busy  programme  but  "  independent  action  " 
was  busier.  Full  moon  at  the  Pyramids  arranged  by  the  Tourist 
Bureau!  Left  Cairo  Nov.  10  at  7:40  and  8:15  A.M..-  Hot  ride 
to  Ismailia  and  then  along  the  Canal  to  Suez,  arriving  at  12 130 
and  i  :i5  P.M.  To  steamer  in  large  scows.  Sailed  at  3  P.M. 

"  CLEVELAND  "  THROUGH  THE  CANAL. — Sailed  Nov.  8  at 
7  A.M.  Arrived  Ismailia  at  5  P.M.  and  changed  pilot.  Bit- 
ter Lakes  at  7  P.M.  Bay  of  Suez  at  i  A.M.  on  Nov.  9. 
Run  of  86  sea-miles  in  18  hours. 

RED  SEA,  Nov.  10. — Sinai  passed  about  dark.  Nov.  n,  the 
Three  Brothers  Islands  at  8  A.M.  Daedalus  rock  at  2  P.M. 
Northerly  wind.  Nov.  12,  calm  at  night.  Nov.  13,  passed  Jibel 
Tair  (a  white  rock  with  thousands  of  birds)  on  the  port  side 
about  8  A.M.  Mocha  at  6:30.  Through  Strait  of  Perim  about 
10  P.M.  and  entered  Gulf  of  Aden.  Nov.  14,  about  6  A.M.,  passed 
Aden  at  a  distance. 

BOMBAY,  Nov.  19. — Anchored  in  front  of  the  Taj  Mahal  hotel 
at  10  A.M.  Agra  parties  landed  first,  after  lunch.  Across-India 
Party  last,  at  4  P.M. 

AGRA  PARTY. — Two  special  trains  left  Bombay  Nov.  19 
at  9:20  and  10  P.M.  Arrived  Agra  Nov.  21  at  6:30  and 
7:30  A.M.  Left  for  Bombay  that  night  at  9  and  9:35  P.M. 
Arrived  Bombay  Nov.  23  at  7:45  and  8:55  A.M.  Sailed  for 
Colombo  at  4  P.M. 


THE  LOG  OF  A  GLOBE-TROTTER         25 

(Note. — On  the  Eastward  Cruise,  the  Cleveland  remains  at 
Bombay  for  about  4l/>  days  in  order  that  those  who  do  not  cross 
India  and  yet  wish  to  see  the  Taj  Mahal  may  make  the  round- 
trip  to  Agra.  The  ship  then  goes  to  Ceylon  (which  the  Across- 
India  party  must  miss),  and  thence  to  Calcutta,  where  all  the 
passengers  again  come  together.) 

"  CLEVELAND  "  TO  COLOMBO. — Nov.  23,  sailed  at  4  P.M. 
along  the  coast.  Arrived  Colombo  Nov.  26  at  6  A.M. 
Landed  passengers  for  shore  excursion  and  took  on  coal, 
ice,  fruits,  and  provisions.  Sailed  Nov.  28  at  noon,  around 
the  coast  of  Ceylon.  Entered  Bay  of  Bengal  on  the  morn- 
ing of  Nov.  29.  Anchored  at  pilot  steamer  on  Dec.  i 
at  noon.  Waited  two  hours  for  tide.  At  2  P.M.  went  at 
full  speed  across  first  bar.  At  5  P.M.  anchored  to  await 
daylight  before  crossing  the  other  two  bars.  Sailed  again 
on  Dec.  2  at  5  :3O  A.M.  Passed  Eden  Bar  at  6  A.M.  and 
Oakland  Bar  at  6:30.  Anchored  at  Diamond  Harbour 
at  8:15  A.M. 

ACROSS-INDIA  PARTY. — Left  Bombay  in  special  train  of  sleep- 
ers on  Nov.  23  at  u  A.M.  Arrived  Agra  Nov.  24  at  10:25  P-M- 
and  left  Nov.  25  at  n  P.M.  Arrived  Delhi  Nov.  26  at  5:40  A.M. 
and  left  at  9  P.M.  Cawnpore,  Nov.  27  at  6:20  A.M.  and  left  at 
noon.  Lucknow,  Nov.  27  at  1 125  P.M.  and  left  at  10  :o5  P.M. 
Benares,  Nov.  28  at  6  -.50  A.M.  and  left  Nov.  29  at  3 120  P.M. 
Calcutta,  Nov.  30  at  6:35  A.M. 

Left  Calcutta  Nov.  30  at  4:12  P.M.  and  reached  Raita  Ghat 
at  8  P.M.  Thanksgiving  turkey  (arranged  by  Mr.  Lody  by  wire 
from  Agra  a  week  before)  at  dinner  on  the  Ganges  River  while 
crossing  to  Sara  Ghat.  Left  Sara  in  sleepers  at  9:10,  arriving  at 
Siliguri  Dec.  i  at  5:12  A.M.  Transferred  to  Himalayan  Railway 
and  reached  Darjeeling  at  noon.  Remained  two  nights  and  left 
on  Dec.  3  at  i  P.M.  Transferred  at  Siliguri  to  sleepers  at  8  P.M. 
and  reached  the  Ganges  at  4:05  A.M.  of  Dec.  4.  Breakfast  while 
crossing  on  river  steamer.  Left  Raita  Ghat  at  5 135  A.M.  and 
arrived  at  Calcutta  at  10:25  A.M. 

Left  Calcutta  Dec.  5  at  4  P.M.  and  reached  Diamond  Harbour 
at  nightfall.  Difficult  transfer  to  the  Cleveland  on  account  of 
the  rushing  tide.  Sailed  Dec.  6  at  6  A.M.  No  stops  for  bars. 
Pilot  left  at  2  P.M. 


26  TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

RANGOON,  Dec.  9. — Anchored  at  i  A.M.  at  the  mouth  of  the 
Rangoon  River,  near  Elephant  Point,  and  took  pilot.  Up  the 
river  at  4  A.M.,  passing  the  Point  at  4:25.  Anchored  in  the 
river  about  three  miles  from  the  city  at  6  A.M.  Difficult  land- 
ing, with  no  tenders  later  than  5  P.M.  Sailed  Dec.  10  at  4  P.M. 
Passed  Elephant  Point  at  5  130  and  dropped  pilot  at  6 :3O. 

SINGAPORE,  Dec.  14. — Anchored  at  Sultan  Shoal  at  3  A.M. 
Docked  at  Borneo  Pier  at  9  A.M.  Half  of  party  proceeded  at 
once  to  Johore  by  train  and  ferry ;  the  second  battalion  went  on 
following  day.  Sailed  Dec.  15  at  4  P.M.  through  Rhio  Strait. 
Dropped  pilot  at  5  P.M. 

EQUATOR,  Dec.  15. — Triton  came  aboard  at  9  P.M.  with  mes- 
sage from  Neptune.  Crossed  the  Line  about  n  P.M.  Dec.  16  at 
9:30  entered  Straits  of  Banca.  Neptune  celebration  planned 
for  2  P.M.  i  :55,  suicide  of  a  passenger  and  rescue  of  the  body 
by  another.  2:15  P.M.,  full  speed  ahead. 

B  ATA  VIA,  Dec.  17. — Arrived  at  6  A.M.  at  harbour  of  Tandjong 
Priok.  Half  of  party  by  train  to  Weltevreden,  while  the  other 
half  took  train  for  Buitenzorg.  This  programme  reversed  on 
following  day.  Sailed  Dec.  18  at  7  P.M.  Recrossed  the  Equator. 
No  Neptune  ceremonies  at  either  crossing  on  account  of  the 
recent  loss  of  a  passenger,  but  diplomas  were  distributed. 

MANILA,  Dec.  23. — Passed  Corregidor  at  4:09  A.M.  and  an- 
chored at  6 :3O.  Sailed  on  Christmas  Eve  at  4  P.M.  Passed  Cor- 
regidor at  6:18.  Christmas  dinner,  with  turkey,  cranberry  sauce, 
and  plum-pudding,  in  the  China  Sea. 

HONG  KONG,  Dec.  26. — Took  pilot  aboard  at  n  A.M.  and  an- 
chored to  buoy  at  ii  130.  Divided  into  four  parties  for  river 
trip  to  Canton.  Sailed  Dec.  29  at  noon  and  dropped  pilot  at 
12:45.  China  Sea  rough. 

NAGASAKI,  Jan.  i. — Took  pilot  at  i  P.M.  and  anchored  in  the 
bay  for  medical  inspection.  Made  fast  to  buoy  in  the  harbour 
at  2:30.  Cold  and  rainy.  Began  coaling  Jan.  2  at  7  A.M.  and 
finished  Jan.  3  at  i  P.M. — 5,400  tons.  Jan.  2,  Mayor's  reception 


THE  LOG  OF  A  GLOBE-TROTTER         27 

and  American  Consul's  dinner.    Sailed  Jan.  3  at  2  P.M.,  dropping 
pilot  at  2:20.    The  Inland  Sea  pilot  remains  on  board. 

INLAND  SEA,  Jan.  4. — Arrived  at  the  entrance  about  midnight 
and  anchored  until  dawn.  Entered  at  7  A.M.  and  passed  Shimo- 
noseki  at  8.  Rainy  and  cold. 

KOBE,  Jan.  5. — Arrived  at  pilot  station  at  2  A.M.  and  anchored 
until  dawn.  Entered  harbour  at  7:15  and  anchored  to  buoy 
at  8.  Sailed  for  Yokohama  Jan.  8  at  6:30  A.M.  Side-trips  to 
Osaka,  Kyoto,  and  Nara.  Across- Japan  Party  started  from  here. 

YOKOHAMA,  Jan.  9. — Arrived  5 130  A.M.  and  anchored  to 
buoy  at  9.  All  sorts  of  parties,  large  and  small,  for  side-trips 
to  Kamakura,  Tokyo,  and  Nikko.  Sailed  Jan.  14  at  4  P.M. 

PACIFIC  OCEAN. — Jan.  16-18,  rough  sea  with  westerly  wind, 
calming  down  on  the  evening  of  Jan.  18.  Rough  again  on  the 
I9th,  with  a  very  high  swell.  Remember  it? 

ANTIPODES,  Jan.  20. — Crossed  the  iSoth  Meridian  about  4  P.M. 
on  "  Saturday  No.  i."  High  Jinks  in  afternoon.  Went  to  bed 
Saturday  night  and  woke  up  on  Saturday  morning — "  Saturday 
No.  2." 

HONOLULU,  Jan.  24. — Diamond  Head  at  5 130  A.M.  Took  pilot 
at  6.  Entered  harbour  at  7:30.  Pilot  dropped  dead  on  the 
bridge  at  8:10  and  the  ship  swerved  against  the  U.S.S.  Colorado. 
Docked  at  8:50  and  immediately  began  having  a  swell  time. 
Sailed  regretfully  on  Jan.  25,  at  5  P.M.  Passed  Diamond  Head 
at  5 150  P.M. 

SAN  FRANCISCO,  Jan.  31. — The  lights  of  the  homeland  at  n 
P.M.  Took  pilot  and  passed  through  the  Golden  Gate  at  11:50. 
Anchored  in  bay  shortly  after  midnight.  Violent  efforts  re- 
quired to  keep  California  passengers  from  wading  ashore. 
Docked  Feb.  i  and  began  celebrating.  San  Francisco  making 
a  big  fuss  over  us.  The  Across  the  United  States  Party,  com- 
posed mainly  of  Europeans,  starts  from  here. 


28  TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

DREAM  VOYAGE  No.  2— WESTWARD 

SAN  FRANCISCO,  Feb.  6. — Bright  day  but  atmosphere  humid 
with  farewell  kisses.  The  clock  strikes  2  P.M.  and  the  whistle 
officer  pulls  the  cord  four  times.  The  band  begins:  "Muss  Ich 
Denn,  Muss  Ich  Dennf"  and  we  again  start  the  contest  of  see- 
ing who  can  keep  the  kerchief  agitated  the  longest. 

The  Quartermaster's  tug,  Slocum,  follows  us  out,  with  the 
Mayor,  the  Exposition  officials,  and  the  newspapers.  At  the 
Golden  Gate  the  bugler  on  the  Slocum  sounds  "  Taps  "  and  the 
band  responds  with  "  Stars  and  Stripes  Forever."  We  pass  out 
the  Gate  with  the  gulls  following — out  into  a  chilly  mist.  The 
ship  hits  a  rolling  sea  and  begins  to  have  fun  with  the  pas- 
sengers' stomachs. 

AT  SEA,  Feb.  6-n. — Genevieve  reading  Clarence's  steamer- 
letter.  Ship  historian  sizes  up  the  crowd  on  the  promenade 
deck  and  makes  audible  comparisons  with  Cruise  No.  i.  Athletic 
sports  with  deck-stewards  over  location  of  steamer-chairs.  Hall 
of  Refreshment  very  busy. 

Uncle  Dan  and  the  Man  from  Superior  solemnly  decide  that 
sea-travel  is  not  what  the  literature  says  it  is.  Many  unkind 
words  about  the  Pacific  Ocean  roll  about  on  the  deck.  The 
Shriners  organize  with  so  much  fuss  that  everybody  forgets  his 
stomach.  Lincoln's  Birthday  celebrated  on  Feb.  12,  with  "  Tur- 
key a  la  Sam  Ward."  Off  Diamond  Head  to-night. 

HONOLULU,  Feb.  13. — Entered  at  6  A.M.  and  made  fast  to  pier 
at  8:00.  Ship  boarded  by  Hawaiian  girls  loaded  with  wreaths 
of  flowers.  The  Man  from  Superior  gets  three  (wreaths). 
Promotion  Committee  starts  us  off  with  a  rush.  Big  hula-hula 
dance  at  night.  A  dip  in  the  surf  of  Waikiki  on  Feb.  14  before 
sailing  at  5  P.M.  "  Gee!  But  This  Is  (Not)  a  Lonesome  Town!  " 

THE  PACIFIC. — Feb.  15,  the  ocean  shows  how  perfect  its  be- 
haviour can  be,  and  Uncle  Dan  begins  to  take  nourishment — and 
hold  it. 

ANTIPODES,  Feb.  18. — Crossed  iSoth  Meridian  about  noon  Sun- 
day. To-morrow  is  to  be  "  Monday  what  ain't."  Go  to  bed  to- 
night and  sleep  until  Tuesday  morning!  High  Jinks  Wednes- 
day, in  a  rolling  sea.  Washington's  Birthday  on  Feb.  22,  with 


THE  LOG  OF  A  GLOBE-TROTTER         29 

"Soup  a  la  George  Washington."     Effervescent  oratory  after 
dinner  pleases  the  orators  much. 

YOKOHAMA,  Feb.  26. — Arrived  at  5  A.M.  Docked  at  8:30. 
Parties  leaving  daily  for  Kamakura,  Tokyo,  and  Nikko.  The 
Across-Japan  Party  left  ship  here  and  will  rejoin  the  other  pas- 
sengers before  sailing  from  Kobe. 

ACROSS  JAPAN. — Left  Tokyo  i  P.M.,  arriving  Nikko  6:25  in 
pouring  rain.  Left  Nikko  Feb.  29  for  Tokyo.  Kamakura  on 
Mch.  i.  Mch.  4,  picturesque  ride  across  Japan,  reaching  Nagoya 
at  4:12.  Left  Nagoya  Mch.  5,  arriving  Nara  i  P.M.  Left  at 
6  P.M.  and  arrived  Kyoto  at  7.  To  Kobe  at  5  130,  Mch.  6,  and 
went  on  board.  Mch.  7  to  Osaka  for  the  Coney  Island  show  at 
night.  Left  Mch.  8  at  9:30,  arriving  Kobe  at  n.  Sailed  at 
5  P.M. 

"CLEVELAND"  TO  KOBE. — Left  Yokohama  Mch.  3  at  S 
P.M.    Anchored  to  buoy  in  Kobe  Harbour  Mch.  5  at  i  A.M. 

INLAND  SEA,  Mch.  8. — Entered  soon  after  leaving  Kobe. 
Passed  Shimonoseki  on  Mch.  9  at  3  P.M.  and  out  into  the  open 
sea. 

NAGASAKI,  Mch.  10. — Arrived  7  A.M.  Fast  to  buoy  at  8. 
Coaled  until  7  P.M.  Reception  in  afternoon  by  American  Con- 
sul Deichman.  Japanese  dinner  and  geisha  dance  at  night. 
Uncle  Dan  willing  to  stay  here  indefinitely!  Mch.  n,  Consul's 
dinner-party,  followed  by  dance  on  board  in  his  honour.  Sailed 
Mch.  12  at  7  A.M. 

HONG  KONG,  Mch.  15. — Reached  pilot  station  at  10  A.M.,  after  a 
rough  passage  of  the  China  Sea.  Fast  to  buoy  at  u.  News  of 
riots  in  Canton.  Passengers  go  to  Macao  instead. 

CANTON,  Mch.  15. — Left  Kowloon  at  2  P.M.  by  train.  Arrived 
Canton  7  P.M.  Mch.  16,  seeing  Canton  alone.  Left  on  2  P.M. 
train,  arriving  Hong  Kong  at  7  P.M.  Sailed  for  Manila  Mch. 
18  at  2  P.M.  Mch.  18-19,  vaccinations! 

MANILA,  Mch.  20. — Passed  Corregidor  at  10:56  A.M.  and  made 
fast  to  Pier  5  at  i  :2O.  Extra  day  in  Manila.  Side-trips  on  the 
Pasig.  Sailed  Mch.  22  at  4  P.M.  Corregidor  at  6:27.  Beautiful 


SO  TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

sunset.     Passengers  begin  to  sleep  on  deck,  and  life  loses  all 
charms  for  the  deck-stewards. 

EQUATOR,  Mch.  25. — Passed  along  coast  of  Borneo.  Sunset  of 
burnished  gold.  Triton  came  aboard  at  9  P.M.  Crossed  the  Line 
at  10  P.M.  High  Jinks  on  Mch.  26,  in  afternoon. 

BATAVIA,  Mch.  27. — Tandjong  Priok  at  6  A.M.  Landed  at  8. 
Special  train  to  Buitenzorg  at  8:16,  arriving  at  10:30.  Left  at 
3:12  in  the  daily  rain  and  returned  to  ship.  Mch.  28,  half-hour 
ride  to  Weltevreden,  returning  at  5:30  P.M.  Sailed  at  7  P.M. 
Recrossed  the  Equator  Mch.  29  at  n  P.M. 

SINGAPORE,  Mch.  30. — Arrived  at  6  A.M.  and  docked  ai  7. 
Special  train  for  Johore  at  9:15,  arriving  10:30.  Left  at  12:15 
and  returned  to  Singapore.  Sailed  Mch.  31  at  5  P.M.  Moon- 
light and  deck  beds  both  popular. 

RANGOON,  April  4. — Arrived  at  Elephant  Point  April  3  at  9 
P.M.  and  anchored.  Entered  Rangoon  River  April  4  at  5  A.M. 
Anchored  off  Rangoon  at  7  A.M.  Sailed  April  5,  at  3  P.M. 
Elephant  Point  at  5  and  dropped  pilot  at  6. 

EASTER  SUNDAY,  April  7. — Hot  and  sticky,  14,000  miles  from 
millinery  parade. 

DIAMOND  HARBOUR,  April  7. — Arrived  at  the  Hooghly  April 
7  at  5  P.M.  Anchored  until  n.  Over  the  first  bar  at  midnight 
and  anchored  at  i  A.M.  Off  again  on  April  8  at  12:30  P.M.,  pass- 
ing second  bar  at  1 :30  and  third  at  2 :45.  Anchored  in  Diamond 
Harbour  at  5  P.M.  Double  rainbow  in  evening.  Darjeeling  and 
Benares  parties  landed  April  9  at  8:30.  Across-India  Party  at 
1:30. 

"  CLEVELAND  "  TO  COLOMBO. — Sailed  April  13  at  5  A.M. 
Passed  first  bar  at  6:30  and  the  other  two  without  delay. 
Dropped  pilot  at  noon.  Arrived  Colombo  April  17  at  9 
A.M.  (Caught  in  squall  here.)  Sailed  April  19  at  9  P.M. 
and  arrived  Bombay  April  22  at  8  A.M. 


THE  LOG  OF  A  GLOBE-TROTTER         31 

ACROSS-INDIA  PARTY. — Landed  at  Diamond  Harbour  at  i  P.M. 
April  9.  Picturesque  ride  of  two  hours  to  Calcutta.  Left  Cal- 
cutta April  ii  at  4:40  P.M.  for  Darjeeling.  Furious  storm  en 
route.  Raita  Ghat  at  8  P.M.  and  transferred  to  river  steamer, 
with  dinner  while  crossing.  Left  Sara  Ghat  in  sleepers  at  9:30. 
Early  breakfast  at  Siliguri  on  April  12  and  transferred  to 
Himalayan  Railway.  Breakfast  at  Kurseong  and  arrival  in 
Darjeeling  at  noon.  Left  Darjeeling  April  14  at  3:30  P.M.  and 
transferred  to  sleepers  at  Siliguri  at  9  P.M.  Breakfast  on 
Ganges  steamer  and  arrival  in  Calcutta  at  noon  of  April  15. 

Left  Calcutta  April  15  at  4:30  in  de  luxe  Durbar  train.  Ar- 
rived Benares  April  16  at  7:15  A.M.  Left  April  17  at  n  P.M. 
and  arrived  Lucknow  at  6:30  the  next  morning.  Left  at  3  P.M. 
and  arrived  at  Cawnpore  at  4:45.  Left  at  9  P.M.  Arrived  at 
Agra  April  19  at  5  A.M.  and  left  at  n  P.M.  Delhi,  April  20  at 
4:50  A.M.  and  left  at  9  P.M.  Long  ride  to  Bombay,  arriving 
April  22  at  I  P.M.  Remained  in  Bombay  until  April  26,  sailing 
at  5  P.M. 

RED  SEA. — Passed  Aden  May  I  at  3  A.M.  and  entered  the  Red 
Sea.  Passed  Perim  at  9  A.M.  and  Mocha  about  noon.  May  3, 
northerly  wind  began.  May  4,  tropical  outfit  disappearing  from 
the  deck.  Passed  The  Three  Brothers  at  6:17  A.M.  Sinai  at  6 

P.M. 

SUEZ,  May  5. — Arrived  at  5:30  A.M.  and  landed  at  8.  Special 
train  to  Cairo  at  8:30,  arriving  at  2:30.  Pyramids  by  moon- 
light !  May  6,  lawn  fete  at  Shepheard's.  May  7,  ball  at  the  Con- 
tinental. May  8,  special  train  for  Port  Said  at  8:30,  arriving  at 
12 130.  Ship's  band  playing  "  I  Can't  Tell  Why  I  Love  You,  But 
I  Do!"  Sailed  at  3  P.M.  Farewell  to  the  Rev.  Dr.  Hough. 

"  CLEVELAND  "  THROUGH  CANAL. — Entered  May  5  at  2 
P.M.  and  sailed  at  a  6-knot  speed.  Arrived  at  Port  Said 
May  6  at  5  P.M. 

MEDITERRANEAN. — Cold  enough  for  winter  clothes.  May  10, 
passed  Crete  after  midnight.  May  n,  Mt.  JEtna  plainly  visible 
at  II  A.M.  for  about  an  hour.  Passed  Cape  Spartevento  at  noon 
and  entered  Strait  of  Messina.  Stopped  20  minutes  opposite  the 


32  TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

city  of  Messina  and  passed  out  between  Scylla  and  Charybdis  at 
2:50  P.M.  Alongside  Stromboli  from  5  to  6  P.M.  Farewell  Din- 
ner May  ii,  with  "illuminated  ice-cream"  and  dance  on  prom- 
enade deck. 

NAPLES,  May  12. — Docked  at  6  A.M.  and  landed  about  half 
of  the  passengers  for  overland  trips  across  Europe.  Sailed  at 
3  :30  P.M. 

MEDITERRANEAN. — May  13,  along  Sardinia  from  7  to  10  A.M. 
May  14,  along  the  coast  of  Spain. 

GIBRALTAR,  May  15. — Europa  Point  at  8  A.M.  Anchored  at 
8:30  and  landed  at  9:30.  Across-Spain  Party  left  here.  Sailed 
at  2:15  P.M.  Opposite  Jibel  Musa  at  3:15.  Last  view  of  Gib- 
raltar, 3:40.  Tarifa  at  3:45.  Tangier  at  4:00.  Cape  Trafalgar 
at  5:15- 

THE  ATLANTIC. — May  16,  passed  Lisbon  in  the  distance  at 
11:30  A.M.  May  17,  Cape  Finisterre  at  4  A.M.  May  18,  Ques- 
sent  Island  at  6:45  A.M.  Portland  at  8  P.M.  Entered  The 
Needles  at  10:20  P.M.  and  sailed  along  the  Isle  of  Wight.  An- 
chored off  Southampton  at  11:36  P.M. 

ENGLISH  CHANNEL,  May  19. — Landed  about  100  passengers 
at  Southampton  May  19  at  6 :30  and  sailed  at  7 :2O,  with  band 
playing  "  There,  Little  Girl,  Don't  Cry ! "  Through  the  north- 
east channel  past  Cowes,  Osborn  House,  and  Portsmouth. 
Nelson's  flagship,  the  Victory,  visible  in  the  distance.  Passed 
the  white  cliffs  of  Dover  at  2:17  P.M.,  with  Calais  barely  visible 
on  the  French  coast.  Channel  calm  all  the  way.  Heavy  North 
Sea  fog  at  night. 

GERMANY. — Passed  Borkum  Lightship  May  20  at  7 :33  A.M. 
Elbe  No.  I  Lightship  at  12:25  P.M.  Arrived  Cuxhaven  at  1:40 
P.M.  with  the  long  "  Homeward  Bound "  pennant  streaming 
from  the  tallest  mast.  All  passengers  landed  here.  Special 
train  left  at  3:37  P.M.  and  arrived  in  Hamburg  at  6:30.  May  23, 
launching  of  the  Imperator.  May  25,  to  Berlin.  June  I,  re- 
turn to  Cuxhaven.  Cleveland  sailed  for  New  York. 


THE  LOG  OF  A  GLOBE-TROTTER         33 

HOMEWARD. — June  2,  in  the  English  Channel,  past  Dover, 
Portsmouth,  Southampton,  touching  at  Cherbourg  at  7  P.M. 
Arrived  Ambrose  Lightship,  New  York  Harbour,  June  n,  10 
P.M.  Docked  at  Hoboken  June  12,  8  A.M.  Home  again  after 
235  days! 

AIR  TEMPERATURE  AT  NOON  AROUND  THE  WORLD 
(From  the  Log  of  the  Cleveland) 


EASTWARD                                       WESTWARD 

Read  down 

Read  up 

59 

New  York  City 

57-2 

Cuxhaven 

57-2 

Southampton 

60.8 

68 

Funchal 

.  , 

74-3 

Gibraltar 

62.6 

62.6 

Villefranche 

Naples 

64.4 

71.6 

Port  Said 

66.2 

69.8 

Suez 

734 

86.9 

Red  Sea   (maximum) 

93-2 

80.6 

Bombay 

84.2 

84.2 

Colombo 

87.8 

75-2 

Diamond  Harbour 

69.4 

84.2 

Rangoon 

84.2 

81.5 

Singapore 

87.8 

83.3 

Batavia 

84.2 

82.4 

Manila 

86 

82.4 

Hong  Kong 

60.8 

51.8 

Nagasaki 

50 

50 

Kobe 

59 

46.4 

Yokohama 

57-2 

77 

Honolulu 

71.6 

53-6 

San  Francisco 

53-6 

Note.  —  Figures 

in    Fahrenheit.     For   comparison   with    ordi- 

nary  temperatures  at  home,  deduct  five  or  ten  degrees  from  the 
high  temperatures  in  the  above  record.  Remember  that  the 
world-cruiser  is  in  tropical  clothing,  and  that  there  are  free  car- 
riages and  'rickshaws  waiting  to  take  him  from  dock  to  hotel 
and  from  hotel  to  the  places  of  interest. 


TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 


DISTANCES  AND  RUNNING  TIME 

Land  distances  in  statute  miles  (5,280  ft.)    Sea  distances 

in  sea-miles  (6,080  ft.) 


Miles 

Days 

Hours 

Milts 

Days 

Hours 

New  York       .... 

San  Francisco 

Punchal  

2750 
615 
650 
1460 
'47 

7 

i 

2 

3 

IS 
16 
3 

20 
4^ 

slA 
15 
ii 

lx 

iM 

9 
IS 

20 
2O 
2 
12 
8 
12 
II 
l8 
I 
13 

2098 
3420 
108 

6 
10 

i? 
16 

Of 

5 

2 
X 
12 

6 

2 

3 

I 
I 
M 
3 

21 

14 
12 

'4 

2 
20 
2O 

'75X 

i*A 

8 
(-% 
13 

'fc 

4% 
15 
18 
8 

k 

7SK 

21 

9 

12 

Gibraltar          .... 

Yokohama  

Nikko  

Port  Said 

Tokyo  

90 
3» 

Cairo  
Suez  

Kamakura  
Yokohama  

2970 
835 

8 

i 

Agra  

Nara  

95 
26 
47 

Delhi  

Kyoto  

Cawnpore  

271 

35 

187 

Kobe  

Osaka  

Benares  

Kobe  

Calcutta  

392 
1067 
660 
1570 
530 
1140 
780 
37 
379 
379 

i 

3 

i 

4 
i 

3 
3 

Darjeeling    

379 
379 
37 
780 
1140 
536 
1570 
S90 
1067 
392 

2 
2 

2 

3 

i 

4 
i 

3 

i 

Hong  Kong  

DiamondHarbour 

Batavia    

DiamondHarbour 
Calcutta  

Hong  Kong  

Nagasaki  

Calcutta  

Kobe  

l87 

Kyoto  

27 
47 
35° 
18 
3400 
2092 

i 

10 

6 

I 
*% 

"% 

9 

4 

35 

Kobe  

Agra  

Yokohama    

Delhi              

957 
2970 

i 
8 

Honolulu  

San  Francisco  
Eastward.... 

Cairo  

33447 

69 

2 

Naples  

1  120 
987 
1150 

454 
56 
178 

3 

2 

3 

i 

Gibraltar  

Author's  itinerary,  eastward 
and  westward  combined, 
—  49,554  miles. 

Travelling  time  of  steamer  and  trains 
—  143  days,  ii  hours. 

Southampton  

Hamburg  

Berlin        

Cuxhaven  
Southampton  — 
Cherbourg  
New  York  

234 
454 

IOO 

3106 

9 

Westward  — 

26107 

74 

9 

MR.  A.  MARTINI 


MR.  C.  LODY 


LOOK  WHO'S  HERE! 


MR.  C.  SCIIERKR,  SECOND  IN  COMMAND 


Ill 

OH,  LOOK  WHO'S  HERE! 

TO  stand  apart  with  your  pipe,  here  in  the  corner 
of  the  promenade  deck  on  the  first  day  of  the 
cruise,    with    the    orchestra    playing    "  Santa 
Lucia  "  in  the  ladies'  salon,  and  watch  the  characters 
as  they  troop  across  the  stage — this  is  no  dull  show. 
And  it  really  matters  very  little  whether  it  be  the  East- 
ward or  the  Westward  cruise.    The  cast  of  characters 
is  essentially  the  same. 

Yonder  come  Eunice  and  Gertie — gushing  products 
of  the  finishing  school  and  the  millinery  factory — each 
telling  the  other  (at  the  same  time,  and  loud  enough 
for  all  to  hear)  how  swell  was  the  send-off  dinner  that 
he  gave  her  last  night  at  the  cafe.  Not  for  the  world 
would  they  have  left  those  roses  in  their  staterooms,  or 
that  bunch  of  steamer  letters  which  they  will  presently 
spread  over  the  deck  to  show  what  a  dash  they  cut  in 
spite  of  themselves. 

And  there  is  Winsome  Willie,  crusher  of  hearts, 
ablaze  with  his  red  necktie  and  with  lilac  socks  peeping 
out  from  beneath  his  outing  trousers.  Light  and  airy 
and  debonair,  by  to-morrow  night  he  will  be  calling 
Eunice  and  Gertie  by  their  first  names  and  letting  it 
ooze  out  that  he  is  a  man  of  the  world. 

35 


36  TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

Here  at  the  corner,  blocking  the  passageway,  is  a 
trio  of  Old  Cruisers.  They  are  pointing  out  on  the 
map  the  tracks  that  they  have  made  over  it  and  telling 
why  the  Cairo  hotels  are  better  than  those  of  Con- 
stantinople. Somewhere  up  the  line  of  steamer  chairs 
are  their  buxom  wives,  each  telling  the  other  that  she 
is  a  good  sailor,  and  asking  what  is  considered  to  be 
the  best  place  to  shop  on  a  world-cruise. 

And  then  there  are  the  Widows — no  end  of  them. 
Somebody  who  makes  a  specialty  of  widows  and  has 
a  head  for  statistics  has  them  all  figured  out.  There 
are  eighty-five  of  them — all  different  varieties.  There 
are  the  Merry  Widow  and  the  Marry  Widow,  the 
motherly  widow  and  the  sisterly  widow,  the  cynic  and 
the  sad,  the  wicked  and  the  winsome,  and  all  the  others. 
Some  are  portly  and  resigned;  others  are  portly  but 
hopeful;  and  a  few  are  young  and  chic,  with  go-as-far- 
as-you-like  twinkles.  This  one  is  revelling  in  the 
wealth  suddenly  left  to  her  by  the  late  and  miserly 
deceased.  That  one  is  travelling  around  the  world  on 
the  savings  accumulated  by  strict  economy — with  the 
allowance  that  the  court  designated  as  alimony. 
Yonder,  painfully  making  her  eleventh  circuit  of  the 
Promenadedeckwalk,  with  her  waist-line  in  plaster-of- 
paris,  is  one  w7ho  regards  a  world-cruise  in  the  light  of 
a  Homeseekers'  Excursion.  All  of  them  are  experi- 
enced and  wise.  But  Sister  Dolorosa,  sitting  demurely 
yonder  under  a  steamer  rug,  with  her  soulful  eyes 
veiled  by  drooping  lashes,  is  wiser  than  all.  She  merely 
sits,  and  looks  dependent  and  weary  of  the  lonely 
journey  through  life.  And  does  it  work?  Keep  your 


OH,  LOOK  WHO'S  HERE!  37 

eye  upon  the  next  twenty  men  who  pass  her  chair  and 
judge  for  yourself! 

Oh,  never  was  a  cruise  that  had  the  makings  of  a 
musical  comedy  like  ours!  There  in  the  smoker  are 
the  Millionaire  Kid  and  Montmorency  and  Spare  Ribs 
and  Gravy.  On  the  deck  below  sit  Uncle  Dan  and  the 
Man  from  Superior,  a  lot  sicker  than  the  Ingenue  and 
the  Girl  Who  Doesn't  Give  a  Hang.  On  the  lower 
deck  are  the  Duke  and  Cap  and  Peter  and  Ole.  In 
the  ladies'  salon,  rehearsing  for  the  first  euchre,  are 
the  Queen  Bee,  the  Dowager,  the  Suffragette,  and  the 
Whist  Fiend.  On  the  hurricane  deck  are  the  Chorus 
Lady  and  the  Daughter  of  Venus,  playing  shuffle- 
board  with  Prince  Charming  and  Mother's  Joy.  And 
Grandpa  is  propped  up  against  the  rail,  smoking  fine- 
cut  and  getting  a  line  on  the  Man-Hater. 

And  then  there  are  the  rest  of  us — just  folks.  We 
make  something  of  a  splash  now  and  then  in  the  home- 
town, but  out  here  we  are  lost  in  the  crowd.  On  the 
cast  of  characters  we  are  billed  in  small  type  at  the 
end,  as  the  populace.  We  are  merely  doctors  and 
lawyers  and  editors  and  merchants  and  bankers,  and 
pillars  of  the  church.  We  are  essential  to  the  per- 
formance, but  we  do  not  make  the  show. 

And  what  a  setting  for  a  stage  production  this  is — 
here  on  the  great  ship  that  gently  lifts  with  "  the  swing- 
ing, smoking  seas  "  as  its  big  funnels  belch  out  the 
smoke  that  trails  behind !  In  its  wake,  down  below  the 
horizon  now,  is  the  little  world  that  we  have  known. 
Ahead  of  us,  beyond  that  other  skyline,  is  the  greater 
world  that  we  have  always  dreamed  of  seeing — that 


38 


TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 


outer  world  of  strange  peoples,  with  its  altars  to  the 
Unknown  God. 

Meanwhile,  here  are  some  figures  which  show  how 
many  kinds  of  people  it  takes  to  make  up  a  world- 
cruise.  The  classification  is  not  quite  complete,  nor  is 
it  absolutely  accurate.  For  instance,  Genevieve  regis- 
ters from  New  York,  to  conceal  the  fact  that  she  lives 
in  Brooklyn.  And  Herr  Amtsgerichtsrat  a.  D.  C. 
Braunschweig  is  accredited  to  Berlin,  where  he  bought 
his  ticket,  instead  of  to  the  peaceful  little  village  of 
Domane  Barsdorf,  where  he  winds  the  clock. 

APPROXIMATE  GEOGRAPHY    OF  TWO  PASSENGER 

LISTS 


EAST- 
WARD 

4« 

93 

United  States  
Other  Countries  .... 

WEST- 
WARD 
459 

66 

EAST- 
WARD 

421 

93 

United  States  
Other  Countries  

WEST- 
WARD 

4H 

Maine  

28 

California  

64 

6 

Washington         .... 

Vermont  

Texas  

Massachusetts        

Arkansas  .        

* 

6 

Connecticut  

Alabama  

Rhode  Island      .... 

Georgia  .         

120 

New  York  

82 

a 

Louisiana  
Virginia  

s 

Maryland  

Kentucky  

Delaware  

Tennessee  

6 

39 

Ohio  

,6 

Alaska  

West  Virginia        

Indiana  

28 

Illinois  

Iowa  

Austria  

Wisconsin  

6 

Switzerland  .... 

8 

Minnesota  ... 

North  Dakota  

Sweden  '. 

South  Dakota  

8 

Nebraska  

France  

Kansas  

6 

Spain  .        .... 

Missouri            .          .... 

28 

Great  Britain 

Colorado  

6 

Belgium  ....               .... 

i 

Canada  

i 

Arizona  

Cuba  

Utah    

8 

IV 
UNDER  THE  CASTLE  OF  HAMBURG 

FROM  the  front  porch  of  the  Cleveland,  you  will 
notice,  hangs  a  small  flag  with  a  castle  on  it. 
It  is  not  a  German  ensign,  for  that  floats  at  the 
stern.  Nor  is  it  a  house-flag  of  the  Line,  for  that  flaps 
from  the  top  of  the  tallest  mast.  It  is  the  Castle  of 
Hamburg. 

After  you  have  been  in  Hamburg  long  enough  to 
realize  what  it  stands  for,  you  will  not  wonder  that 
the  mariners  of  the  Elbe  are  proud  of  their  great  city. 

For,  aside  from  being  one  of  the  richest  and  one  of 
the  most  beautiful  cities  of  Europe,  Hamburg  is  one 
of  the  three  city-republics  of  the  German  Empire,  and 
no  true  Hamburger  ever  forgets  it.  (The  other  two 
are  Bremen  and  Liibeck.)  Hence  it  is  that  no  loyal 
Hamburg  sea-captain  ever  ventures  into  the  North 
Sea  without  the  Castle  of  Hamburg  where  the  flag- 
lieutenant  can  get  at  it  quickly. 

Now,  the  Cleveland,  the  first  of  all  ships  to  circum- 
navigate the  world  on  a  regular  schedule,  is  a  Ham- 
burg ship.  Its  Captain,  therefore,  takes  no  small  de- 
light in  pushing  his  city  flag  into  every  foreign  port 
about  a  hundred  yards  in  advance  of  his  passengers. 

To  us  in  America,  a  steamship  corporation  is  a 

39 


40  TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

wicked,  soulless  octopus  that  is  to  be  watched  at 
every  step  and  be  throttled  whenever  its  plans  become 
imperial.  (On  the  morning  this  page  goes  to  the 
printer,  for  example,  the  newspaper  announces  that 
$12,000,000  worth  of  contracts  for  future  American 
merchant  ships,  to  be  built  by  Cramps,  had  to  be  can- 
celled because  they  were  to  be  operated  in  connection 
with  railroad  lines.)  But  in  Germany,  a  big  steam- 
ship company  is  regarded  as  one  of  the  national  institu- 
tions, to  be  favoured  by  legislation  and  to  be  applauded 
by  the  nation  whenever  its  plans  become  world-wide. 
For  over  there  it  is  understood  that  every  steamer 
extends  the  borders  of  the  Empire. 

This  fact  was  very  impressive  as  I  stood  in  the 
drizzling  rain  at  the  close  of  the  Westward  cruise  and 
witnessed  the  launching  of  the  Imperator  in  the  har- 
bour of  Hamburg.  It  was  a  fitting  close  to  a  memo- 
rable voyage.  There,  in  the  background,  were  the 
smoke-begrimed  funnels  of  the  Cleveland,  which  had 
just  brought  its  home  pennant  into  port  after  an 
absence  of  seven  months,  during  which  time  it  had 
twice  encircled  the  globe.  And  here  in  the  foreground 
was  the  huge  bulk  of  a  steamer  of  the  same  line,  three 
times  as  large,  awaiting  the  electric  touch  that  would 
send  it  gently  into  the  historic  waters  of  the  Elbe. 

And  all  Deutschland  had  grasped  the  significance  of 
an  event  that  was  to  give  the  Empire  preeminence  on 
the  great  tourist  highway  that  ends  at  Sandy  Hook. 
That  alert,  graceful  figure  yonder  on  the  christening 
chancel,  in  the  white  cap  of  an  admiral  and  a  dark 
gray  cape  to  shield  him  from  the  rain — that  is  the 


UNDER  THE  CASTLE  OF  HAMBURG      41 

German  Emperor.  He  has  come  up  from  Potsdam  to 
signalize  by  his  presence  the  fact  that  this  launching 
is  an  imperial  triumph  as  well  as  a  Hamburg  achieve- 
ment. And  the  great  throng  that  covered  docks  and 
platforms  and  roofs  and  every  sort  of  craft  was  not 
a  demonstrative  crowd.  It  was  strangely  quiet  and 
solemn,  for  their  eyes  looked  upon  the  Imperator  as 
another  province  about  to  be  added  to  the  Fatherland. 
And  some  day,  please  God,  Americans  also  will  share 
this  view  of  steamship  operations  on  a  world  scale. 

In  a  chapter  of  another  book  (  "  The  Land  of  the 
White  Helmet")  I  once  called  attention,  before  ever 
I  realized  what  Hamburg's  castle  stands  for,  to  the 
remarkable  genius  of  the  Hamburg  shipmaster  as  seen 
in  the  operation  of  a  rusty  freighter  off  the  West  Coast 
of  Africa.  Since  then  I  have  watched  that  genius  as 
expressed  in  organization  and  service  all  around  the 
world — the  genius  that  is  giving  to  Hamburg  and 
Bremen  the  mastery  of  the  seas. 

Without  reckoning  the  shipping  of  the  sister  city  of 
Bremen,  consider  what  the  steamers  of  this  one  Ham- 
burg-American Line  alone  are  doing  to  add  lustre  to 
the  ancient  glory  of  the  Castle  City.  The  "  Hapag  " 
steamers  go  out  on  sixty-eight  different  services,  of 
which  this  world-cruise  is  but  one.  They  enter 
regularly  350  ports  of  the  world.  If  you  were  to  make 
a  new  map  of  the  world  and  include  only  the  countries 
that  are  touched  by  the  boats  of  this  one  city,  it  would 
be  quite  a  respectable  and  familiar  map.  Think  of  the 
prestige  that  would  be  added  to  any  American  city 
that  could  send  out  a  fleet  of  180  ocean-liners! 


42  TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

While  we  are  circumnavigating  the  world,  therefore, 
in  the  largest  passenger  steamer  that  has  yet  passed 
through  the  Suez  Canal  and  as  passengers  of  the 
largest  mercantile  fleet  on  any  sea,  it  is  permitted  that 
we  be  a  little  chesty  about  it.  We  are  entitled  to  all 
the  honour  we  can  get  out  of  a  cruise  like  this. 

In  going  around  twice,  it  has  been  of  the  greatest 
interest  to  me  to  study  the  organization  of  the  cruise, 
just  as  other  passengers  linger  around  the  machinery 
of  the  ship  itself.  It  is  a  beautiful  example  of  the 
activity  of  that  genius  which  has  made  the  name  of 
Hamburg  familiar  in  every  part  of  the  world. 

First,  the  preliminary  work.  Back  of  this  world- 
cruise  is  all  the  experience  that  has  been  gained  in  the 
management  of  ocean-going  vessels  and  in  the  conduct 
of  special  pleasure  cruises.  All  the  problems  of  cir- 
cumnavigation were  carefully  worked  out  before  the 
first  passenger  was  solicited. 

Then  they  picked  the  boat.  How  wisely  they  picked 
it  was  proven  when  it  made  the  double  circuit,  50,000 
miles,  without  having  to  stop  for  repairs.  And  with 
the  boat  went  a  picked  corps  of  officers  and  engineers. 

But  it  was  not  enough  that  the  ship  be  seaworthy, 
608  feet  long  and  of  17,000  tons.  It  was  overhauled 
and  given  the  luxuriousness  of  a  private  yacht. 
Second-class  and  third-class  distinctions  were  oblit- 
erated, although  the  passenger-carrying  capacity  was 
thereby  reduced  from  1500  to  500;  but  ample  deck 
room  is  required  on  a  cruise  of  three  and  a  half  months 
in  the  tropics.  An  immense  cold-storage  plant  was 
installed,  and  the  largest  steam-laundry  afloat — for  a 


UNDER  THE  CASTLE  OF  HAMBURG      43 

world-cruise  demands  that  the  Chief  Officer  shall  take 
up  the  laundry  business  as  a  side-line. 

And  there  was  the  problem  of  keeping  five  hundred 
people  sweet  and  smiling  on  shipboard  during  the  voy- 
age across  vast  spaces  of  ocean.  A  crew  of  more  than 
four  hundred  sailors  and  stewards  was  required,  for 
a  globe-trotter  wants  what  he  wants  when  he  wants  it. 
And  these  men  were  disciplined  and  drilled  as  is  not 
done  on  even  a  warship,  for  the  humblest  steward  on 
the  boat  is  expected  to  render  cheerful  service  to  the 
most  unreasoning  and  most  exacting  passenger.  The 
man  who  spends  nearly  four  months  on  one  ship  is 
content  only  when  he  is  comfortable — and  he  makes 
considerable  of  a  noise  when  he  is  not  content. 

The  text-books  on  zoology  say  that  a  globe-trotter  is 
most  apt  to  be  docile  when  he  is  well  fed.  The  food 
should  not  only  be  plentiful  and  varied,  but  it  should 
come  along  from  the  kitchen  with  great  swiftness. 
And  it  must  be  just  as  fresh  at  Singapore  as  it  is  in 
the  North  Sea.  The  degree  of  success  in  working  out 
this  problem  may  be  inferred  from  the  records  of  the 
Cleveland's  physician.  When  the  Eastward  cruise 
reached  San  Francisco,  the  doctor's  log  showed  that  he 
had  treated  only  twenty-one  cases  of  digestive  dis- 
orders in  the  no  days,  and  this  list  of  twenty-one 
included  all  of  his  seasick  patients  and  those  who  had 
eaten  and  drunk  indiscreetly  while  on  shore  in  the 
tropics ! 

This  result  was  not  accidental.  The  genius  of  Ham- 
burg had  been  active  also  in  the  commissary  depart- 
ment, with  an  inconspicuous  gentleman  whom  few  of 


44  TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

the  passengers  ever  noticed.  He  was  supposed  to  re- 
side somewhere  in  the  cold-storage  room,  and  he  bore 
the  pleasing  name  of  Mr.  Martini.  Before  a  ship 
reached  any  foreign  port,  this  man  knew  just  what 
toothsome  provisions  and  fruits  were  in  season,  and 
he  kept  the  wireless  busy  getting  them  down  to  the 
dock  by  the  time  the  Cleveland  tied  up.  He  guessed 
the  appetites  of  his  guests  with  such  accuracy  and  spent 
his  money  so  freely  that  not  one  passenger,  so  far  as  I 
know,  left  the  cruise  with  a  grievance  against  the 
menu — and  that  is  an  achievement  that  never  hap- 
pened before  on  any  steamship  that  carried  me  to  sea. 

It  may  be  of  interest  to  see  some  of  the  items  of  a 
ship's  housekeeper  on  a  cruise  like  this.  We  ate  about 
200,000  pounds  of  meat,  and  an  equal  tonnage  of 
bread  and  potatoes.  Of  poultry,  we  looted  the  chicken- 
coop  to  the  extent  of  70,000  pounds — filling  in  the 
crevices  with  ornithological  specimens  like  quail, 
pheasant,  and  guinea-hen.  Incidentally,  a  lot  of 
American  hens  were  kept  busy  for  a  long  time  before 
we  sailed,  in  order  that  we  might  have  the  300,000 
eggs  needed  for  the  cruise.  We  used  up  15,000  pounds 
of  coffee  and  I  know  not  how  many  bales  of  tea,  and 
22,000  pounds  of  sugar  were  required  to  keep  every- 
thing sweet.  Of  fruits,  we  ate  enough  varieties  to 
stock  a  botanical  garden,  for  almost  every  port  con- 
tributed something  strange  and  appetizing.  Of  more 
commonplace  specimens  we  let  24,000  apples,  40,000 
grapefruit,  and  80,000  oranges  know  that  we  were  on 
board.  And  that  ice-cream  that  was  such  a  joy  every 


UNDER  THE  CASTLE  OF  HAMBURG      45 

night,  especially  between  Cairo  and  Manila — it  was  all 
frozen  in  the  U.S.A.  and  tucked  away  in  the  Cleve- 
land's cold  storage! 

But  if  you  really  want  to  know  how  a  passenger  eats 
on  a  world-cruise,  it  is  best  to  look  at  the  directory. 
Here  is  a  catalogue  of  an  a  la  carte  lunch  and  of  an 
ordinary  dinner.  They  show  what  we  had  for  no 
days,  except  when  we  had  something  better. 


LUNCH 

Served  from  ia  to  2  p.  m. 


HORS  D'CEUVRE: 
Olives 

Sweet  Pickles 
Mustard  Pickles 
Beet  Roots 
Bismarck  Herrings 
Sardines  in  Oil 
Anchovies 
Russian  Sardines 
Fried  Pickled  Herrings 

SOUPS : 
Pot  au  feu 
Consomm6  in  Cup 

EGGS: 

Hoppel  Poppel 
Poached  Eggs  a  la  Comtesse 

FISH: 

Fresh  Lobster,  Sauce  Mayonnaise 
Fried  English  Sole,  Butter 

ENTRIES,  ROASTS  AND  POULTRY 
Broiled  Mutton  Chops, 

Butter  Beans 
Hamburg  Steak, 

Lyonnaise  Potatoes 
Fricassee  of  Veal  with  Asparagus 
Roast  Wild  Duck 

SPECIAL  DISHES: 
Pea  Soup  with  Bacon 
Roast  Pork,  Sauerkraut; 
Mashed  Potatoes 


VEGETABLES  AND  POTATOES: 
Butter  Beans 
Celery 
Boiled  Rice 

French  and  German  fried  Potatoes 
Boiled  and  baked  Potatoes 
Baked  Sweet  Potatoes 
Mashed  Potatoes 
Saratoga  Chips 

SALADS  ; 

Salad  a  la  Chasseur 
Salad  a  1'Americaine 
Potato  Salad 

COLD  CUTS  AND  COLD  DISHES: 
Hors  d'ceuvre 
Lobster  Pyramide 
Eggs  a  la  Heligoland 
Roastbeef,  Vegetable  Salad 
Tournedos  a  la  Marigny' 
Boiled  Yorkshire  Ham 
Corned  Beef  Tongue 
Smoked  Eel 
Goose  in  Jelly 
Roast  Chicken 

Various  Kinds  of  Sausage 

COMPOTE  AND  DESSERTS  : 

Stewed  Prunes 

Nesselrode  Cream,  Punch  Sauce 

Congress  Tartlets 

CHEESE: 

Swiss,  Edelweiss,  Gorgonzola, 
Edam 

FRUIT  : 
Mandarines,  Apples,  Apricots 

Coffee 


46  TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 


ON  BOARD  S.  S.  "CLEVELAND1 
May  g,  1912 


D  INNER 


Chicken  Soup  a  la  Monte  Christo 
Consomme  with  Noodles 

Ombre  de  Mer  a  la  Meuniere 
Potatoes 

Porterhousesteak  a  la  Jardiniere 
Aubergines  a  1'Amfericaine 

Roast  Duck 
Compote  Salad 

Almond  Ice  Cream 
Tartlets  a  la  Lingoise 

Dessert 


Ship's  Time  on  May  10,  6  a.  m. 
will  be  put  back  ti  Min. 


The  management  was  also  wise  enough  to  know 
that  globe-trotters  keep  much  sweeter  in  the  tropics 
if  they  have  somebody  tickling  their  toes  and  ears 
during  the  lazy  hours  on  board.  In  addition  to  the 
ordinary  band,  therefore — which  played  every  morn- 
ing at  ten,  every  night  at  dinner,  and  often  in  the 
evening — a  trio  of  genuine  artists  was  lured  to  the 
boat  and  carried  to  sea.  With  these  gentlemen  came 
a  repertoire  of  53  overtures,  91  fantasies,  41  classical 
selections,  86  pieces  of  the  kind  that  Uncle  Dan  likes, 
53  songs  without  words,  66  pieces  with  the  American 


UNDER  THE  CASTLE  OF  HAMBURG      47 

Eagle  on  them,  119  waltzes,  76  marches,  19  turkey- 
trots,  15  violin  solos,  and  9  'cello  solos.  These  were 
turned  loose  in  the  ladies'  salon  every  afternoon  and 
evening. 

Then,  you  know,  there  are  some  of  us  who  are  not 
happy  on  Sunday  unless  we  can  sit  in  church.  But 
think  how  many  kinds  of  churches  we  sit  in  when  we 
are  at  home,  and  how  many  kinds  of  doctrines  we  are 
sensitive  about!  To  provide  a  pastor  for  a  flock  of 
this  kind  is  no  easy  task — and  to  lead  it  away  from  the 
promenade  deck  on  a  hot  Sunday  and  down  into  the 
dining-salon  is  not  easy,  either.  This  is  the  place  to 
say,  therefore,  with  few  words  but  with  the  utmost 
sincerity,  that  the  lamented  Dr.  George  A.  Hough 
(who  died  in  Europe  on  the  way  home)  was  one  of 
the  best  men  for  this  position  that  ever  sailed  the  seas. 

A  Social  Director  and  an  assistant  were  also  pro- 
vided, to  supervise  the  social  life  of  the  ship  and  per- 
suade timid  folks  to  talk  at  the  meetings  of  the  Gird- 
lers'  Club.  Some  idea  of  the  gaiety  of  life  on  the 
Cleveland  may  be  gleaned  from  the  social  programme 
for  ten  days  at  sea: 

Saturday.    Reception,  8:30-10  P.M. 
Sunday.    Divine  service,  10:30  A.M. 

Song  service,  8:30  P.M. 
Monday.    Progressive  euchre,  8:30  P.M. 
Tuesday.    Camera  Club,  8:30  P.M. 
Wednesday.    English   lecture,   8 :3O  P.M. 
Thursday.    Musical  Club,  8:30  P.M. 
Friday.    Bridge  Whist,  8:30  P.M. 
Saturday.    Dance  on  Promenade  Deck.) 
Sunday.    In  port  at  Madeira. 
Monday.    Girdlers'  Club,  8:30  P.M. 


48  TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

Such  is  the  genius  of  Hamburg  in  the  running  of  a 
steamship  around  the  world,  but  it  did  not  stop  here. 
The  Company  had  to  have  a  man  who  could  direct  the 
cruise  with  the  skill  that  the  Captain  used  on  the  bridge. 
Now  that  is  a  man's  job.  Can  you  handle  500  people, 
mostly  of  the  human  race  and  with  about  750  kinds  of 
temperament,  and  never  lose  your  temper?  When 
every  stateroom  is  occupied  and  some  passenger  insists 
upon  having  a  change,  can  you  fix  him  up?  Can  you 
tell,  out  in  the  Java  Sea,  how  many  Dutch  guilders  to 
give  a  passenger  in  exchange  for  twenty  Indian  rupees 
that  he  has  left  over — when  the  value  of  both  is  fluctu- 
ating? Can  you  decide,  right  off  the  bat,  what  is  to  be 
done  when  you  anchor  in  Hong  Kong,  with  plans  all 
perfected  for  side-trips  to  Canton,  and  learn  suddenly 
that  the  riots  there  have  knocked  the  programme  into 
smithereens?  If  so,  you  are  qualified  to  trot  in  the 
same  class  with  Mr.  Vogelsang  and  Mr.  Scherer,  who 
ran  the  show  all  the  way  round,  and  with  Mr.  Lody, 
the  responsible  man  on  the  Across-India  and  Across- 
Japan  excursions — the  three  Carls. 

And  the  Reiseburo  did  a  bully  job — no  mistake  about 
that.  Now  and  then,  when  a  group  of  passengers  in 
the  hot  sun  showed  impulsiveness  and  elevated  tem- 
peratures, some  member  of  the  staff  became  peevish, 
but  all  of  us  can  recall  instances  where  a  verdict  of 
justifiable  homicide  would  have  been  unanimously 
voted  by  the  passengers.  They  worked  hard  to  make 
things  go  smoothly,  and  many  of  them  did  their  duty 
when  they  might  have  ducked  and  gone  sight-seeing 
on  their  own  account. 


V 
MADEIRA,  VINTAGE  OF  ANTIQUITY 

OH,  lookee!  See  that  greyish  cloud  ahead,  low 
on  the  horizon?  That  is  the  mountain  range 
that  amphitheatres  the  city  of  Funchal.  By 
the  time  we  run  down  to  the  breakfast-table  for  grape- 
fruit and  apfelpfahnkuchen  and  coffee,  we  shall  be 
alongside  the  sunny  land  where  Columbus  got  the 
Great  Idea  that  Hoboken  could  be  reached  by  sailing 
due  west. 

It  is  the  eighth  day,  early  on  a  Sunday  morn.  The 
sun  has  just  come  up  out  of  the  sea  and  begins  to  play 
on  the  topmost  peaks  like  a  searchlight.  Then  it 
switches  around  and  illuminates  the  bunting  that 
flutters  on  the  Cleveland  from  stem  to  stern.  Then  it 
comes  up  a  little  higher  and  tints  the  picturesque  stucco 
cottages  that  rise  one  after  another  from  waterfront 
to  peak.  The  big  ship  pushes  its  way  slowly  through 
a  fleet  of  small  boats  and  anchors  in  a  pocket-edition 
of  the  Bay  of  Naples.  In  another  hour  we  shall  be 
giving  Funchal  the  busiest  Sunday  that  it  has  seen  in 
years. 

Now  Francisco  and  Jose  ought  to  be  at  early  mass 
— but  there  they  stand  on  the  end  of  the  pier,  in  straw 
hats  and  Sunday  best!  And  there  are  Maria  and 


50  TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

Dolores  also,  who  should  be  at  home  getting  little  sis- 
ters ready  for  Sunday  School.  But,  alas!  and  alack! 
there  also  is  Mamma — for  the  Portuguese  and  Spanish 
lands  sing  the  Lamb  Song  thus : 

"And  everywhere  that  Maria  went, 
Mamma  was  sure  to  go." 

Some  travellers  think  that  Funchal  looks  like  Hono- 
lulu. I  can't  see  it  that  way,  at  all.  It  is  more  like  its 
sister  cities  Teneriffe  and  Las  Palmas,  in  the  Canaries 
far  to  the  south.  It  presents  a  beautiful  appearance 
from  the  sea,  whereas  Honolulu  is  so  flat  that  you  must 
get  above  it  and  look  down  to  get  the  same  effect. 

But  the  luxuriant  roses  and  geraniums  and  bougain- 
villea  and  the  climate  are  like  those  of  Honolulu — and 
that  is  the  acme  of  praise.  The  Funchal  thermome- 
ters have  no  use  for  the  figures  below  53  F.  or  above 
88.  In  winter  they  use  degree  64  most  of  the  time, 
and  74  in  summer. 

It  is  not  exactly  proper  to  go  joy-riding  on  Sunday, 
but  that  is  exactly  what  everybody  did  in  Funchal. 
We  had  many  frolics  later  on,  in  'rickshaws  and 
"  dandies  "  and  on  camels  and  elephants,  but  nowhere 
in  the  East  were  there  any  thrills  just  like  those  of 
Funchal. 

There  are  four  varieties.  If  you  feel  genuinely  lazy, 
you  may  crawl  into  a  hammock  and  be  trotted  about 
like  a  sick  baby,  with  a  brawny  Portuguese  at  each  end 
of  the  hammock,  and  a  canopy  overhead.  This  thrill 
should  cost  twenty  cents  an  hour,  but  you  will  probably 


WHY  BLAME  COLUMBUS  FOR  FLIRTING? 


"HOME  WAS  NEVER  LIKE  THIS!" 


MADEIRA,  VINTAGE  OF  ANTIQUITY      51 

pay  fifty.  The  carriers  are  liable  at  any  moment  to 
burst  into  laughter  and  song.  You  can  stop  the  song 
by  the  payment  of  a  small  additional  fee,  or  with  a 
big  gnarled  stick. 

The  second  thrill  comes  only  in  the  lower  town. 
Here  is  a  horseless  taxi  that  may  be  seen  in  no  other 
part  of  the  world  known  to  me.  It  is  a  large  and  heavy 
sled  with  a  canopy  top — a  sled  whose  runners  have 
been  worn  smooth  by  the  cobblestones  of  the  well- 
paved  streets.  It  is  built  for  two  couples,  who  sit  fore 
and  aft,  facing.  The  motive  power  is  a  yoke  of  oxen. 
The  speed-limit  is  about  two  miles  an  hour,  dependent 
upon  the  sharpness  of  the  driver's  goad  and  the  loud- 
ness  of  his  voice.  It  is  better  to  pay  a  little  extra  and 
get  more  noise.  This  thrill  costs  each  passenger  about 
twenty  cents  an  hour.  It  is  worth  more  if  you  can 
arrange  to  have  two  of  these  carros  meet  in  a  narrow 
street. 

No.  3  is  on  the  cable  railway  that  creeps  about  2,000 
feet  upward  to  Monte.  The  capacity  of  the  train  is 
fifty  persons  and  the  fare  is  62l/2  cents.  The  view 
from  the  top  is  worth  at  least  sixty  cents,  and  you  may 
refresh  yourself  at  a  fine  hotel. 

You  get  thrill  No.  4  on  the  way  back,  if  you  tobog- 
gan down  "the  Slide."  This  is  a  narrow,  winding 
street  paved  with  small  cobbles,  and  your  vehicle  is 
literally  a  surface  car.  It  is  a  sled  about  the  size  of 
two  soap-boxes  and  carries  two  or  three  persons. 
Ropes  are  attached  in  front  on  both  sides,  and  two 
husky  motormen  coax  it  rapidly  downhill.  When  its 
speed  is  retarded  by  friction,  one  of  them  produces  a 


52  TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

bag  of  grease  and  lets  the  runner  glide  over  it.  Then 
you  go  lickety-split  again.  The  speed  record  in  Fun- 
chal  is  two  miles  in  three  minutes,  but  we  were  not 
in  such  a  hurry.  This  kind  of  taxi  costs  about  a 
dollar  an  hour. 

Although  Funchal  is  the  third  city  of  Portugal  and 
has  50,000  people  (one-third  of  the  population  of 
Madeira),  there  is  not  much  to  see  except  the  perpetual 
beauty  of  the  place  and  the  quaint  life  of  its  streets. 
There  is  a  poor  excuse  for  a  restaurant  in  the  business 
centre  of  town,  across  from  the  Cathedral,  where  you 
may  sit  at  a  table  on  the  narrow  sidewalk  and  watch 
the  life  of  Funchal  as  it  passes  by.  The  fact  that  the 
passer-by  must  walk  in  the  street  in  order  to  get  by 
your  table  does  not  seem  to  ruffle  his  temper  in  the 
least.  Sitting  here  at  luncheon,  with  a  bottle  of  the 
famous  wine  to  disguise  the  taste  of  the  food,  chance 
may  give  you  some  interesting  panoramas.  I  recall  a 
quaint  wedding-party  that  issued  from  the  old  Cathe- 
dral, where  the  first-born  of  Columbus  is  said  to  have 
been  christened.  The  happy  couple  was  whirled  away 
in  an  ox-sled  for  the  honeymoon. 

But  the  guide  wastes  precious  time  in  taking  you  to 
a  lot  of  other  places  if  you  let  him.  Funchal  thinks 
that  its  Casino  Pavao  is  a  wonder — and  so  it  is  at 
night,  when  its  beautiful  garden  is  illuminated  with 
thousands  of  colored  lights.  Then  there  are  the  tourist 
hotels  and  the  Fort  and  the  Governor's  palace,  and  the 
police-station  and  the  blacksmith-shop.  The  Praga  is 
not  a  bad  park  for  Winsome  Willie  and  Gertie  to 
linger  in,  but  the  English  Cemetery  lacks  antiquity 


MADEIRA,  VINTAGE  OF  ANTIQUITY      53 

enough  to  make  it  worth  while.  It  dates  only  from 
1765;  previous  to  that  time  all  dead  Protestants  went 
into  the  sea. 

For  men- folks,  there  isn't  much  in  Madeira  to  spend 
money  for  except  postcards  and  joy-rides,  wicker- 
chairs  and  wine.  (Go  slowly  with  that  wine!  If  you 
have  to  be  carried  up  the  gang-plank  in  full  view  of  a 
rail  lined  with  fellow-passengers,  "  the  memory 
lingers.")  But  Funchal  is  one  of  the  places  where  the 
lady  tourist  goes  daffy  over  laces  and  such  like — an 
enthusiasm  dampened  only  by  the  remembrance  of  Mr. 
Wm.  Loeb,  Jr.,  and  his  colleagues  in  the  'Frisco  cus- 
tom-house. They  rave  over  this  Madeira  lace,  which 
to  a  plain  man  looks  like  the  $1.50  lace-curtains  at 
Rubenstein's  emporium. 

The  most  interesting  products  of  Madeira  are  the 
people  themselves.  The  citified  Portuguese  in  Funchal 
have  that  tailor-made  politeness  and  the  creased  man- 
ners that  you  find  in  all  the  lands  where  the  man  wears 
filigree  work  on  his  shoes  and  puts  a  mourning  band 
on  his  sleeve  when  the  sister-in-law  of  his  third  cousin's 
stepson  dies.  The  country  folk  of  Madeira  are 
strongly  flavoured  with  the  soil,  and  some  of  them  look 
like  banditti,  but  they  are  a  simple-minded,  hard-work- 
ing, courteous  race,  and  I  like  them.  It  was  a  peasant- 
born  who  chaperoned  me  while  I  was  in  Funchal — a 
rough,  uncouth  man  with  warts  on  his  hands,  but  with 
a  soul  as  gentle  as  a  nun's.  I  remember  his  unstudied 
courtesy  just  as  I  recall  the  purple  of  the  bougain- 
villea  and  the  scarlet  of  the  hibiscus.  When  his  service 
was  ended,  I  offered  him  a  glass  of  his  country's  wine, 


54  TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

as  one  gentleman  to  another.  But  he  would  not  lay 
aside  his  fine  breeding  as  a  peasant;  he  took  off  his 
ragged  cap  and  held  it  in  his  hand  while  drinking  in 
my  presence. 

Everybody  knows  that  Madeira  wine  is  one  of  the 
principal  products  of  Madeira.  But  not  everybody 
knows  that  the  chief  of  all  its  exports  was  the  Great 
Idea  that  gave  Christopher  Columbus  his  start  in  life. 
They  give  him  credit  for  the  Idea  but  insist  that  he 
got  it  in  Madeira.  Over  in  the  neighbouring  island  of 
Porto  Santo,  they  say  that  it  came  as  the  result  of  a 
job  that  his  father-in-law  gave  him  on  one  of  his  trad- 
ing-boats. Others  claim  that  he  saw  some  strange 
junk  washed  up  on  the  western  shore  and  did  his 
figuring  from  that.  A  third  school  tells  of  some  sailors 
that  were  washed  ashore  from  a  wreck  in  1480  and 
given  first  aid  by  Columbus.  It  may  be  intended  as  no 
discredit  to  his  skill  that  they  died.  At  any  rate  it 
helps  the  plot,  for  the  dying  captain  is  said  to  have 
given  Columbus  his  maps  and  charts — and  the  clue 
came  from  them.  But,  after  all,  it  may  be  that  the 
Great  Idea  grew  in  the  back  of  Christopher's  own 
head. 

There  is  another  story  about  Columbus  that  is  so  well 
authenticated  that  I  pass  it  along  with  regret  and  pain. 
The  Governor  of  Porto  Santo,  Perestrello  by  name, 
had  a  daughter — one  of  those  star-eyed  brunettes  of 
whom  only  a  few  are  extant  in  Madeira.  Her  name 
was  Menina,  which  is  about  as  close  as  the  Portuguese 
language  can  come  to  Minnie.  The  Governor  sent 


MADEIRA,  VINTAGE  OF  ANTIQUITY      55 

Minnie  across  to  Portugal  to  learn  how  to  play  the 
piano  and  crochet.  And  Columbus — our  own  peerless 
discoverer — flirted  with  her !  It  was  such  a  desperate 
case  that  when  Minnie  left  school,  Chris  followed  her 
home.  He  put  up  a  good  story  to  the  old  man  and  soon 
had  the  pleasure  of  walking  down  the  aisle  with  Min- 
nie. This  was  about  nineteen  years  before  he  dis- 
covered us. 

They  lived  for  a  time  in  Porto  Santo,  probably 
boarding  with  papa,  and  then  began  housekeeping 
here  in  Funchal.  The  house  is  gone  now,  but  the  site 
remains.  On  a  modern  house  in  the  Rua  Dereita, 
near  the  Cathedral,  you  will  find  a  tablet  that  tells 
the  story. 

Other  great  travellers  before  us  have  had  their 
names  associated  with  Madeira.  Cook  was  there — 
not  the  Doctor  but  the  Captain.  So  also  was  Napoleon, 
on  the  1815  cruise  to  St.  Helena.  But  a  sea- faring 
man  by  the  name  of  Zargo  left  a  bigger  mark  than 
any  of  them. 

Zargo  had  inherited  a  Missouri  disposition,  and 
also  had  plenty  of  sand  in  his  craw.  Folks  over  in 
Portugal  kept  telling  him  about  a  large  cavern  out 
in  the  western  sea,  which  they  said  was  the  mouth 
of  hell.  Zargo  took  down  its  street  address  and 
started  for  it.  When  he  came  in  sight  of  it,  he  pointed 
his  prow  at  the  darkest  spot  and  ran  up  all  his  canvas. 
Straight  into  it  he  went — and  discovered  the  Madeiras. 

The  King  of  Portugal  was  very  appreciative  and 
thereafter  called  the  captain  Sir  Zargo,  and  appointed 
him  as  overseer  of  his  discoveries.  Then  he  showed 


56  TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

him  another  great  kindness.  Zargo  had  three  daugh- 
ters (age  and  complexion  not  stated)  who  had  no 
husbands.  The  King  picked  out  three  young  men 
from  the  Portuguese  nobility,  probably  three  from 
whom  parting  would  be  sweet  sorrow,  and  sent  them 
over  to  Porto  Santo  with  wedding-rings.  Most  of  the 
F.F.F.'s  (First  Families  of  Funchal)  trace  their  ped- 
igrees back  to  this  movement  of  population.  But,  so 
far  as  I  know,  the  mantle  of  old  Zargo  has  not  de- 
scended upon  any  of  them. 

We  came  at  a  momentous  hour  in  the  life  of  this 
people — when  they  were  struggling  to  adapt  them- 
selves to  the  habits  of  a  new  republic.  Two  months 
later,  on  the  other  side  of  the  earth,  we  saw  another 
people  passing  through  the  same  experience — the  Chi- 
nese on  the  Canton  River. 

Another  coincidence :  Funchal,  visited  only  by  the 
Eastward  cruisers,  is  Portuguese.  Macao,  near  Hong 
Kong,  seen  only  by  the  Westward  cruisers,  is  also 
Portuguese. 

There  are  three  other  facts  about  Madeira  worth 
remembering,  as  you  sail  away  toward  Gibraltar  and 
watch  the  sunlit  city  slipping  away  behind  you.  First, 
the  sugar-cane  of  the  West  Indies  was  introduced 
from  Madeira.  Second,  the  sale  of  African  slaves  to 
Madeira  plantations  led  directly  to  the  introduction 
of  slavery  into  the  American  colonies.  Third,  the 
problem  of  working  the  sugar  plantations  of  Hawaii 
is  to-day  being  partly  solved,  you  will  find  at  Hono- 
lulu, by  the  importation  of  Portuguese  immigrants 
of  the  same  type  as  those  here  in  Funchal. 


GIBRALTAR 


VI 
THE  SEA  OF  DARING  ADMIRALS 

HERE,  Uncle  Dan,  is  a  great  chance  for  you  to 
electrify  the  home  town.  Have  the  sign- 
painter  make  a  big  outline  map  of  the  Medi- 
terranean. Borrow  from  the  library  a  lot  of  ancient 
and  modern  histories,  and  make  a  list  of  all  the  brilliant 
exploits  that  have  taken  place  between  Tarifa  and  the 
De  Lesseps  statue.  Then  have  the  Clarion  office  run 
off  some  handbills  announcing  that  you  will  deliver 
a  lecture  in  the  schoolhouse,  entitled  "  Big  Tadpoles 
in  a  Little  Pond."  (They  will  let  you  deliver  it  at 
the  Lodge  and  at  the  Methodist  Church  if  you  will 
tone  down  the  title  and  begin  with  Hiram's  ships 
bringing  cedars  of  Lebanon  down  from  Tyre  for  the 
building  of  Solomon's  Temple.) 

Impress  it  upon  them  that  there  is  no  body  of 
water  in  all  the  world,  not  even  the  big  Pacific,  that 
has  been  the  theatre  of  so  many  heroic  deeds.  Help 
them  count  the  great  Admirals  of  the  Mediterranean 
— more  than  there  are  Colonels  in  Kentucky  or  Gen- 
erals in  Hayti.  Tell  them  about  Pompey's  job  as 
First  Lord  of  the  Admiralty,  and  how  he  cleaned  up 
the  Mediterranean.  His  batting  record — 3,000  prizes, 
10,000  funerals,  and  20,000  captives — will  make  a 

57 


58  TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

hit  with  the  home  team.  And  if  the  audience  begins 
to  get  drowsy,  turn  loose  on  them  the  story  of 
Stephen  Decatur  and  the  Philadelphia  in  the  harbour 
of  Tripoli.  It  is  ahead  of  anything  that  Hobson  did, 
and  it  was  not  spoiled  by  wholesale  kissing  afterward. 

You  can  get  the  small  fry  going  if  you  play  up  the 
Cruise  of  the  Argonauts  and  sprinkle  spangle-dust 
over  The  Islands  of  the  Blest.  For  the  girls  of  the 
6-B,  that  story  about  Leander  swimming  the  Helles- 
pont every  night  to  see  his  sweetheart  is  just  the 
thing.  Besides,  the  name  Leander  sounds  good  to 
girls  of  that  grade.  To  make  the  hair  of  the  Boy 
Scouts  rise  on  end,  deliver  a  few  carefully  selected 
stories  of  the  Barbarossas  and  other  buccaneers  who 
antedated  the  regime  of  ocean  stewards. 

And  after  you  have  captured  Gibraltar  with  Rooke 
and  held  it  with  Elliott,  you  can  come  outside  the 
Strait  and  make  a  great  finish  with  the  Battle  of 
Trafalgar.  Much  do  I  regret  that  there  is  no  space 
in  this  book  for  your  lecture  in  full,  from  2,000  B.  c. 
down  to  the  latest  fizzle  between  the  navies  of  Italy 
and  Turkey. 

It  happens  that  I  have  been  at  Gibraltar  on  four 
cruises,  and  I  lived  for  two  months  across  the  Strait 
at  Tangier,  but  never  yet  have  I  been  able  to  stand 
upon  the  deck  of  a  steamer  and  disentangle  my  geog- 
raphy. Moreover,  I  have  never  overheard  any  one 
else  doing  it,  though  I  have  listened  to  some  who 
blissfully  thought  that  they  had  it  straight.  With  this 
experience  behind  me  and  plenty  of  detailed  maps 


THE  SEA  OF  DARING  ADMIRALS 


before  me,  here  goes  to  help  the  next  fellow  a  little. 
The  eastward-bound  passenger  who  comes  via 
Funchal  will  probably  not  see  Cape  St.  Vincent,  the 
southwest  corner  of  Europe — a  promontory  of  white 
cliffs  with  a  fort  on  top  and  with  wild  waves  dashing 
against  its  sides.  The  first  land  seen  on  the  left,  be- 
fore entering  the  Strait,  will  probably  be  Cape  Trafal- 
gar. If  so,  the  lighthouse  of  Cape  Spartel  (the  north- 
west corner  of  Africa,  twenty-five  miles  distant)  and 
the  city  of  Tangier  should  both  be  visible  on  the  right, 
with  the  outline  of  Gibel  Musa  mountain  dead  ahead. 
An  approximate  time-table  for  the  Cleveland's  passage 
of  the  Strait  is  as  follows: 

4:45  A.M.  Opposite  Cape  Trafalgar  (on  the  left). 
6:15     "     Passing  Tangier,  Morocco  (on  the  right). 
6:30     "     Opposite  Tarifa  lighthouse  (left). 
7:00     "     Alongside  Gibel  Musa   (right). 
8:00     "     Anchor  in  the  Bay  of  Gibraltar. 

The  westward-bound  traveller,  coming  from  Naples, 
will  pass  between  the  Pillars  of  Hercules  and  round 
Europa  Point  about  half  an  hour  before  anchoring. 
Upon  leaving  anchorage,  the  approximate  time-table 
will  be  as  follows: 

2:00  P.M.  (ist  day)  :  Sail  from  Gibraltar. 
3:00     '  Pass  Gibel  Musa  (left). 

3:25     '  Last  view  of  the  Rock. 

3:30     '  Opposite  Tarifa  light  (right). 

3:45     '  Passing  Tangier   (left). 

5:15     '  Off  Cape  Trafalgar   (right). 

'  Pass  Cape  St.  Vincent  (right). 

11:30  A.M.  (2d  day)  Pass  Cape  Roca  and  Lisbon. 
4:00  A.M.   (3d  day)   Pass  Cape  Finisterre. 


60  TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

The  westward-bound  globe-trotter  should  be  famil- 
iar with  the  Battle  of  Trafalgar,  for  he  will  pass 
directly  through  the  waters  where  it  was  fought;  and, 
on  the  fourth  morning  thereafter,  if  he  will  turn  his 
glasses  on  the  tallest  mast  of  a  vessel  moored  back 
of  Portsmouth,  he  will  see  Nelson's  flagship,  the 
Victory. 

The  fight  did  not  take  place  at  Cape  Trafalgar. 
Villeneuve's  fleet  of  French  and  Spanish  ships  were 
sheltered  in  the  harbour  of  Cadiz.  Nelson's  fighters 
were  cruising  outside,  with  battle  plans  all  mapped 
out.  His  captains  had  been  given  a  list  of  signals, 
but  each  was  told  in  writing  that  if  things  should 
get  muddled  up,  he  would  not  go  far  wrong  if  he 
should  run  his  ship  alongside  the  enemy  and  stay  busy. 

Villeneuve  heard  that  he  was  going  to  lose  his  job 
on  Saturday  night,  so  he  decided  to  take  one  last 
chance.  Out  he  came.  Up  from  Nelson's  flagship 
went  the  signal-flags  which  read :  "  England  expects 
every  man  to  do  his  duty."  Then  he  closed  in.  They 
fought  all  over  that  part  of  the  sea,  bloodying  the 
waves  like  a  chicken  with  its  head  chopped  off.  Nel- 
son won  but  lost  his  life.  Hardy,  his  successor,  saw 
Cape  Trafalgar  in  the  distance  when  the  last  gun  had 
been  fired,  and  that  explains  why  the  Cape  and  the 
Battle  have  the  same  name. 

The  seas  of  the  world  have  few  sights  that  equal 
Gibraltar  in  impressiveness,  so  do  not  try  to  hurry 
the  ship  along.  The  approach  to  the  Rock  surpasses 
anything  that  the  town  itself  has  to  offer. 


62  TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

A  hint  to  the  eastward-bound,  who  is  scheduled  to 
reach  Gibraltar  in  the  early  morn.  Leave  instructions 
with  the  Chief  Steward  the  night  before  that  you  are 
to  be  called  whenever  the  light  of  Cape  Spartel  is 
sighted.  That  should  bring  you  on  deck  in  time  to 
see  the  dawn  come  up  gloriously  over  the  African 
mountains  and,  if  fortune  favours,  show  you  a  crim- 
son sunrise  that  you  can  never  forget.  Incidentally, 
you  will  see  the  Moorish  city  of  Tangier,  the  ancient 
piratical  stronghold  of  Tarifa,  and  everything  else  that 
is  to  be  seen  in  the  thirty-six  miles  of  Strait. 

To  the  American,  of  course,  Gibraltar  is  a  rock  that 
has  the  strength  of  a  certain  life-insurance  company, 
and  he  is  sure  that  he  will  recognize  it  at  sight.  A 
big  surprise  awaits  him  if  he  comes  in  from  the 
Atlantic.  It  is  the  westward-bound  who  will  recog- 
nize the  familiar  outline,  for  the  view  shown  in  the 
advertisements  is  from  some  point  on  the  Mediter- 
ranean side. 

Those  who  have  been  at  anchor  in  the  Bay  of 
Gibraltar  will  greet  as  an  old  friend  the  photograph 
that  precedes  this  chapter.  It  is  the  outline  of  the 
Rock  as  the  traveller  sees  it  oftenest.  The  photo- 
graph was  taken  from  the  deck  of  the  Konigin  Luise, 
anchored  in  front  of  the  town,  several  years  ago.  It 
is  remarkable  for  the  halo  that  encircles  it — a  phe- 
nomenon traceable  to  the  fact  that  the  sun  was  rising 
directly  behind  the  Rock  and  had  not  yet  peeped  over. 
Europa  Point  is  on  the  right,  and  the  bold  headland 
on  the  left  overlooks  the  Neutral  Ground.  Those  who 
can  see  things  that  are  not  may  recognize  the  lion 


THE  SEA  OF  DARING  ADMIRALS         63 

couchant!  The  lower  picture  shows  the  Neutral 
Ground. 

On  entering  the  Bay  (which  is  six  miles  wide  and 
about  ten  long),  with  Gibraltar  on  the  right,  the 
Neutral  Ground  and  the  Spanish  town  of  Linea  are 
almost  straight  ahead.  On  the  left,  looking  far 
whiter  than  it  really  is,  you  will  see  Algegiras,  Spain, 
where  the  famous  Moroccan  Conference  met  in  1904. 
It  basks  in  the  sun  directly  across  the  Bay  from 
Gibraltar. 

When  you  are  passing  Europa  Point,  whether  en- 
tering or  leaving  the  Mediterranean,  remember  that 
you  are  passing  the  Pillars  of  Hercules.  The  Point 
is  one  of  them,  and  Ceuta  (the  projecting  point  of  the 
African  coast  fifteen  miles  distant)  is  the  other. 
Ceuta  is  also  Spanish,  being  the  citadel  of  the  narrow 
zone  of  Morocco  that  belongs  to  Spain.  In  the  early 
days,  the  Pillars  of  Hercules  marked  the  limit  of 
westward  navigation.  (Read  up  on  the  River  Oceanus 
and  the  Islands  of  the  Blest,  and  see  what  terrors 
awaited  the  skipper  who  dared  to  push  his  boat  be- 
yond this  ne  plus  ultra.) 

Crowded  as  I  am  for  space,  I  should  gladly  make 
room  just  here  for  the  log  of  the  first  mariner  who 
sailed  his  frail  craft  straight  through  and  took  a  long 
chance  of  being  carried  by  a  boiling,  seething  current 
headlong  over  the  bottomless  abyss  of  the  jumping-off 
place.  The  No.  I  man  here  was  probably  a  Phoeni- 
cian, for  the  oldest  town  in  Europe  (Cadiz)  is  Phoeni- 
cian. It  is  obvious  that  it  was  necessary  to  pass  the 
Strait  and  round  Cape  St.  Vincent  before  founding 


64  TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

the  town  higher  up.  I  have  found  no  record  of  this 
mariner's  name  or  ancestry,  but  there  is  a  rumour 
that  he  came  from  the  same  county  in  Missouri  that 
produced  Zargo. 

Now  for  "  Gibraltar,  grand  and  grey."  The  most 
important  rock  in  the  world  is  about  three  miles  long, 
two-thirds  of  a  mile  wide,  and  about  1,400  feet  high 
in  the  middle.  It  is  connected  with  the  Peninsula  by 
a  sandy  isthmus  that  is  about  a  mile  and  a  half  long. 
This  is  the  Neutral  Ground,  with  a  picket-fence  of 
British  sentinels  on  one  side  and  a  line  of  Spanish 
sentries  on  the  other.  Like  the  wooden  horse  of  Troy, 
the  Rock  is  hollow  and  filled  with  fighting  men  of  the 
finest  breed.  Nobody  who  really  knows  about  its 
armament  will  talk  above  a  whisper,  but  you  may 
hear  one  rumour  that  its  big  guns  can  throw  a  2,000- 
pound  shell  eight  miles,  and  another  rumour  that  they 
can  land  projectiles  across  the  Strait  in  Africa !  The 
one  safe  bet  is  that  no  vessel  can  enter  or  leave  the 
Mediterranean  if  Great  Britain  says  no. 

Remember,  also,  that  the  other  exit  (Port  Said)  is 
British;  and  that  the  exit  of  the  Red  Sea  is  sentinelled 
by  the  British  island  of  Perim,  with  the  British  city 
of  Aden  just  around  the  bend,  in  Arabia.  Put  it 
down  in  your  notebook  also  that  Cyprus  and  Malta  are 
British  strongholds  in  the  Mediterranean.  These  sig- 
nificant facts  have  probably  held  Europe  back  from 
war  more  than  once  in  our  lifetime. 

A  lot  of  folks  have  pitched  camp  on  this  old  rock — 
Phoenicians,  Romans,  Goths,  Vandals,  Moors,  Span- 


THE  SEA  OF  DARING  ADMIRALS         65 

iards,  and  Britons.  Its  name  comes  from  Gibel  (a 
rock)  and  Tarik  (the  name  of  the  Moorish  con- 
queror of  711  A.  D.).  The  Clevelanders  who  went 
from  here  to  Villefranche  should  remember  that  Sir 
George  Rooke,  who  took  Gibraltar  for  the  British 
in  1704,  had  just  come  from  Villefranche.  But  the 
great  name  of  Gibraltar  is  that  of  Sir  George  Elliott — 
the  man  who  held  on  with  his  teeth  during  the  four- 
year  siege  that  began  in  1779.  He  is  why  the  banner 
of  England  still  flies  over  the  Rock. 

Passengers  land  at  Gibraltar  in  a  large  tender  and 
run  the  easy  gauntlet  of  the  custom-house.  Then  the 
gloomy  arches  of  an  ancient  gateway  open  into  Water- 
port  Street,  the  main  artery  of  the  town.  Two  things 
outside  the  gate  deserve  attention.  The  road  to  the 
left  is  the  highway  that  leads  across  the  Neutral 
Ground  to  Linea.  Here,  in  the  angle  between  it  and 
the  gate,  is  the  Moorish  poultry  market,  a  place  of 
casual  interest.  On  the  right  is  the  fruit  market — 
the  place  to  stop  on  the  way  back  to  the  ship  and  load 
up  with  fresh  figs  and  the  most  delicious  Malaga  grapes 
that  ever  passed  your  lips. 

The  thing  to  do  in  Gibraltar  is,  first,  to  take  a 
carriage  and  drive  up  Waterport  Street  without  stop- 
ping, wind  around  through  some  of  the  steep  residen- 
tial streets,  and  stop  at  the  Alameda  Gardens.  This 
is  a  pretty  place  but  not  worth  wasting  time  on.  Drive 
quickly  on  to  Europa  Point,  and  then  back  to  the 
entrance  to  the  deserted  galleries  that  overlook  the 
Neutral  Ground.  A  man  in  khaki  guides  you  through 
the  subterranean  passages,  and  from  a  peep-hole  high 


66  TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

up  on  the  Rock  you  may  have  a  wonderful  view.  But 
this  is  no  walk  for  a  traveller  with  weak  knees  or 
flabby  heart.  Return  to  your  carriage  and  drive  rap- 
idly to  Linea,  noting  the  sentry  lines  at  each  end  of 
the  Neutral  Ground.  Then  return  to  Waterport  Street, 
dismiss  your  carriage,  and  spend  the  rest  of  your  time 
on  foot  in  that  quaint  street,  where  Europe,  Asia, 
Africa,  and  America  meet. 

There  is  an  impression  that  Gibraltar  is  one  of  the 
best  places  in  the  world  to  shop,  being  a  free  port  that 
is  visited  by  perhaps  50,000  vessels  a  year.  One  of 
these  days  the  megaphone  will  be  saying  that  it  is 
one  of  the  dearest  places  on  the  globe — and  then  a 
revolution  will  take  place  in  Waterport  Street  and 
thereafter  the  tourist  will  be  asked  to  pay  only  about 
loo  per  cent,  profit  on  what  he  buys.  Most  of  these 
shopkeepers  are  Asiatics,  and  they  carry  in  stock  the 
same  junk  that  is  to  be  picked  up  in  Japan,  India,  and 
Egypt  at  much  lower  prices.  Buy  your  cigars  and 
your  lace-shawls  and  your  embroideries  in  Gibraltar 
if  you  must.  I  don't. 

This  is  the  first  place  where  you  come  into  contact 
with  Private  Thomas  Atkins,  if  you  are  eastward- 
bound.  You  will  see  him  again  at  frequent  intervals 
all  around  the  world  as  far  as  Hong  Kong.  Meet 
him  like  a  man  and  a  gentleman,  for  he  is  a  clean 
white  man,  as  well  as  a  first-class  fighting  man.  Most 
likely  he  is  Scotch.  A  small  investment  in  cigars 
and  courtesy  will  bring  large  dividends  in  useful  in- 
formation and  service. 

And  now  let  us  sail  away  for  the  Riviera  and,  in 


THE  SEA  OF  DARING  ADMIRALS         67 

passing,  take  a  look  at  the  grand  old  Rock  from  the 
Mediterranean  side. 

If,  in  your  passage  of  the  Mediterranean,  you  learn 
that  the  cholera  epidemic  has  broken  out  in  Naples, 
as  usual,  burn  on  your  devotional  altars  the  incense 
of  gratitude.  The  Riviera  is  more  beautiful  in  a 
minute  than  Naples  in  a  week. 

It  is  a  run  of  about  two  days  from  Gibraltar  to 
the  harbour  of  Villefranche.  The  Cleveland  came 
grandly  in  about  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  and 
passed  slowly  along  the  waterfront  of  Nice,  which  is 
but  two  miles  from  Villefranche.  The  Promenade 
des  Anglais  is  a  sort  of  Atlantic  City  boardwalk,  and 
the  town  turned  out  with  waving  flags  to  see  us  pass. 
At  four  o'clock  we  were  at  anchor,  but  the  harbour 
had  nothing  better  than  small  row-boats  to  land  us  in. 
The  result  was  that  nightfall  had  come  before  we  were 
all  ashore. 

For  the  beautiful  city  of  Nice,  with  its  90,000  in- 
habitants, we  could  spare  only  the  early  hours  of  the 
evening,  promising  to  drive  back  the  next  morning 
and  see  it  by  daylight.  Its  beauty  and  the  charm  of 
the  beautiful  French  that  you  hear  in  its  streets  re- 
main in  memory  like  a  half- forgotten  dream.  Surely 
this  part  of  France  must  have  been  a  suburb  of  the 
Garden  of  Eden. 

But  the  post-office  address  of  a  Cleveland  passenger 
after  ten  o'clock  that  night  was  c/o  "  The  Casino," 
Monte  Carlo,  which  is  but  a  few  miles  from  Ville- 
franche. We  were  all  there  in  the  Casino,  and  99  per 


68  TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

cent,  of  us  had  more  than  an  educational  interest  in 
the  spinning  of  the  wheel.  Nobody  seemed  to  be 
meditating  upon  the  fact  that  here  Greek  civilization 
first  established  itself  in  western  Europe. 

I  heard  no  crackling  noises  that  night  that  sounded 
like  the  breaking  up  of  the  bank,  but  Monte  was  a 
busy  place  while  the  Clevelanders  were  among  those 
present.  Most  of  us.  were  good  losers,  but  a  few  were 
good  winners.  The  best  winners  were  those  who 
played  the  game  like  the  demure,  winsome  damsel 
from  Philadelphia.  She  coyly  laid  a  big  silver  dollar 
down  on  the  wheel  when  nobody  was  looking,  and 
told  the  spinner  to  go  as  far  as  he  liked.  The  wheel 
went  round  with  a  merry  good  will.  When  it  stopped, 
the  engineer  raked  up  a  basketful  of  dollars  and 
handed  them  over.  The  little  Quakeress  did  not  faint 
— she  quit! 

By  rigid  economy  in  the  matter  of  sleep,  there  were 
some  unforgettable  drives  the  next  morning  over 
beautiful  roads  that  wind  among  the  mountains  and 
overlook  the  blue  of  the  sea  below.  If,  instead  of 
sailing  at  eleven  o'clock,  the  Cleveland's  boilers  had 
burst  and  laid  the  boat  up  for  a  week,  not  a  passenger 
would  have  uttered  a  word  of  complaint. 

But  the  boilers  refused  to  burst,  and  we  sailed  away 
in  the  brilliant  sunlight,  along  the  coast-line  of  one 
of  the  happiest  lands  in  the  world.  And  when  the 
last  alluring  bit  of  the  Riviera  began  to  lose  itself  in 
the  haze  of  distance,  we  began  the  process  of  adapt- 
ing ourself  to  the  120  European  passengers  who  had 
just  come  aboard.  And  that  was  a  wild  night  at  sea! 


VII 
IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  VESUVIUS 

FIRST,  let  us  get  rid  of  a  few  ragged  pieces  of 
real  estate  that  stick  up  out  of  the  Mediter- 
ranean along  the  path  of  the  Cleveland. 

The  Eastward  party,  leaving  Villefranche  about 
noon,  passed  that  evening  between  two  historic  islands 
— Corsica,  where  Napoleon  was  born,  and  Elba,  where 
he  was  in  temporary  exile. 

On  the  second  day,  at  5  :3O  p.  M.,  we  were  along- 
side the  volcano  of  Stromboli,  southwest  of  Naples. 
Stromboli  is  one  of  those  steam-heated  apartments 
whose  janitor  never  lets  the  fire  go  out.  A  light  cloud 
of  smoke  rises  continuously  from  the  chimney  and 
drifts  away  in  a  haze  that  is  visible  afar  off.  We 
passed  it  on  the  crater  side,  getting  a  good  view  of 
the  stream  of  lava  that  drifts  down  to  the  sea  with 
almost  imperceptible  movement.  When  seen  at  night, 
this  lurid  stream  gleams  out  of  the  darkness  as  a 
broad,  perpendicular  band  of  light. 

The  only  busy  man  on  the  ship  while  we  were 
passing  Stromboli  was  Dr.  Grandefeld,  an  artist. 
Rigging  up  his  easel  on  the  front  porch,  he  sketched 
in  the  outlines  of  the  volcano  while  yet  at  a  distance. 
Then  he  dabbed  on  the  clouds  and  blended  the  sunset 


70  TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

colours.  By  this  time  we  were  near  enough  for  him 
to  paint  in  the  ashen-grey  of  the  lava  stream,  with 
the  raw  sienna  edges  where  the  vegetation  had  been 
cooked.  As  we  passed  alongside  he  slapped  in  the 
other  details — the  green  of  the  trees,  the  little  terraced 
gardens,  and  the  whitewashed  cottages  there  in  the 
shadow  of  death.  When  we  had  passed,  there  was 
the  oil-painting,  needing  only  to  be  manicured  at 
leisure.  It  was  a  clever  piece  of  work. 

In  the  calm  of  the  twilight  hour  we  steamed  be- 
tween Scylla  and  Charybdis  and  entered  the  Strait 
of  Messina.  The  rows  of  lights  in  Messina  (on  the 
right)  and  in  Reggio  (on  the  toe  of  Italy's  boot) 
made  a  beautiful  picture,  and  the  hurricane  deck  had 
to  put  up  the  S.  R.  O.  sign. 

The  Westward  party,  leaving  Port  Said  on  Wed- 
nesday evening,  saw  Mt.  ./Etna  on  Saturday  about 
10:30  A.M.,  and  entered  the  Strait  of  Messina  at 
noon.  The  little  villages  on  the  Italy  side  were  very 
distinct  in  the  bright  sunlight,  and  each  in  turn  was 
recognized  as  Reggio.  Finally  the  real  Reggio  was 
passed  and  the  ship  swung  in  close  to  Messina,  where 
the  Captain  halted  for  twenty  minutes  and  gave  the 
passengers  a  good  view  of  an  earthquaked  city  in  the 
process  of  rehabilitation.  At  3  P.  M.  we  were  passing 
out  between  Scylla  (on  the  Italy  side)  and  Charybdis. 
Since  nearly  half  of  the  passengers  were  to  leave  the 
ship  the  following  day  at  Naples,  for  overland  trips 
across  Europe,  this  was  the  night  of  the  Farewell 
Dinner,  dance,  and  tears.  Also  tips!  And  now  for 
bella  Napoli. 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  VESUVIUS          71 

It  is  said  that  in  the  old  days  there  was  a  siren 
here  at  Naples,  a  sort  of  Italian  Lorelei  who  lured 
sailors  to  destruction.  If  there  is  any  young  lady  of 
such  irresistible  charms  there  now,  I  have  missed  her. 
Still,  it  doesn't  take  a  great  deal  to  lure  a  sailor.  It 
is  also  written  that  Naples  was  once  devasted  by  the 
barbarians.  I  feel  sure  that  this  must  be  so.  Some- 
thing tells  me  also  that  the  barbarians  forgot  to  go 
away. 

In  the  course  of  our  tour  of  the  world,  we  had 
passed  through  some  places  of  evil  repute,  such  as 
Canton,  Singapore,  and  Port  Said.  But  it  was  not 
until  we  were  entering  Naples  that  the  Tourist  Bureau 
deemed  it  wise  to  print  on  the  programme  the  caution : 
"  Beware  of  Pickpockets !  "  Consider  also  that  Naples 
fairly  teems  with  beggars  and  rascally  vendors.  And 
that  it  is  unkempt  and  smelly.  Then  you  have  only 
some  of  the  reasons  why  I  mourn  not  the  shortness 
of  our  stay. 

Now  Napoli  is  of  course  a  place  of  great  interest 
if  you  stop  long  enough  to  go  to  Herculaneum  and 
Pompeii,  to  sail  over  to  Capri  and  the  Blue  Grotto,  to 
drive  around  Sorrento  and  Amalfi.  In  other  words, 
Naples  is  all  right  if  you  hurry  on  to  some  other  place. 

It  was  not  thus  in  the  olden  time,  the  time  when 
Lucullus  and  Virgil  lived  here,  and  when  the  Caesars 
— both  Julius  and  Gus — used  to  run  down  for  the 
week-end.  Were  it  not  for  the  bay  and  Vesuvius,  the 
largest  city  of  Italy  would  not  attract  much  except 
cholera  and  fleas  in  the  present  age. 

Vesuvius,  calmly  smoking  away,  stands  out  sublime 


7*  TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

and  grim  there  against  the  skyline,  but  the  bay  has 
always  been  a  disappointment  to  me.  I  have  never 
yet  seen  it  when  it  could  compare  with  the  turquoise 
and  emerald  of  the  Bay  of  Suez,  and  a  number  of 
other  less  celebrated  puddles  of  water.  But  this  is  not 
saying  there  are  no  times  when  it  is  the  most  beautiful 
body  of  water  in  the  world.  Was  it  not  of  this  bay 
that  Shelley  wrote : 

"  They  might  lament ;  for  I  am  one  whom  men  love  not  and  yet 

regret. 
Unlike  this  day  which,  when  the  sun  shall  on  its  stainless 

glory  set, 
Will  linger,  though  enjoyed,  like  joy  in  memory  yet." 

The  eastward-bound  traveller  has  the  advantage 
here.  At  its  worst,  Naples  has  more  points  of  interest 
than  Funchal  or  the  town  of  Gibraltar,  and  the  globe- 
trotter does  not  feel  that  it  is  a  come-down  from  what 
he  has  been  seeing  elsewhere. 

We  saw  Napoli  in  its  Sunday  clothes,  just  coming 
from  mass,  and  not  once  did  we  hear  "  Santa  Lucia  " 
or  "  Espagnola."  A  pleasant  carriage  drive  through 
its  best  streets  saved  us  from  the  importunities  of  the 
beggars  and  the  deft  fingers  of  the  pickpockets.  An 
hour  in  the  Aquarium,  another  in  the  Museum,  and  a 
little  loitering  in  the  Galleria  Umberto — this  was  all 
that  we  had  time  for.  But,  lest  some  one  accuse  me 
of  having  taken  snap-judgment  of  Naples,  permit  me 
to  say  that  I  knew  it  of  old. 

That  Aquarium  is  one  of  the  most  interesting  places 
in  town.  It  is  a  sort  of  international  institution,  even 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  VESUVIUS          73 

the  United  States  being  financially  interested  in  it. 
The  most  spectacular  exhibits  in  it  are  the  jelly-fish 
with  electric  attachments.  You  see  a  lace  handkerchief 
suspended  in  the  water — and  all  at  once  it  is  lit  up 
with  a  system  of  incandescent  lights.  A  long  but  tiny 
white  snake  hangs  like  a  skein  of  yarn — and  a  bulb 
of  electric  light  runs  back  and  forth  exactly  like  the 
lights  that  chase  one  another  in  an  electric  sign.  This 
is  a  feature  of  the  Aquarium  of  Naples  that  I  have 
never  seen  anywhere  else.  While  you  are  here,  be 
kind  to  one  of  the  attendants  and  he  may  let  you 
feed  the  octopus! 

Do  not  let  your  prejudice  against  museums  keep 
you  away  from  the  Museum  of  Naples.  It  is  full  of 
antiquities  from  Herculaneum  and  Pompeii,  and  some 
of  the  sculpture  is  magnificent,  even  to  those  who  are 
not  specially  interested  in  works  of  art.  For  instance, 
you  may  not  be  overwhelmed  at  the  sight  of  an 
equestrian  statue  of  the  son  of  Marcus  Balbus,  but  it 
is  worth  while  to  see  the  finest  marble  horse  of  an- 
tiquity. You  are  apt  to  take  a  second  glance  at  the 
Farnese  Bull  when  you  know  that  it  was  "  restored  " 
by  Michael  Angelo  and  is  carved  from  a  single  block 
of  marble.  The  great  mosaic  of  Alexander  and  Darius 
at  the  battle  of  Issus,  the  thousand  paintings  recovered 
from  the  buried  cities,  the  wonderful  collection  of 
cameos  and  intaglios,  the  library  of  papyri,  the  vases 
of  onyx,  and  a  thousand  other  things  will  quickly  show 
you  that  this  is  no  ordinary  museum. 

And  if  you  have  any  reverential  feeling  for  your 
old  Latin  professor,  who  taught  you  the  number  of 


74  TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

parts  into  which  all  Gaul  was  divided,  go  and  stand 
in  silence  before  the  portrait  bust  of  the  greatest  of 
all  the  Caesars.  It  will  make  the  Gallic  Wars  and  the 
dagger  of  the  "  lean  and  hungry  "  Cassius  seem  very 
real.  And,  if  I  mistake  not,  you  will  come  away  with 
the  feeling  that  this  was  "  the  noblest  Roman  of  them 
all." 

Every  woman  knows  that  Naples  is  the  place  to  buy 
pink  coral  and  cameos  and  tortoise-shell  combs.  Far 
be  it  from  me  to  mar  their  happiness  by  saying  that 
most  of  the  pink  coral  is  white  coral  dyed,  that  the 
tortoise-shell  is  mostly  celluloid,  and  that  the  cameos 
are  often  glass. 


Length  of  the  Promenadedeckwalk 
542  feet  english 

To  make 

one  seamile  (6076  feet):  11  times 

one  statutemile  (5280 feet}:  10     " 
one  kilometre  (3281  fee f):        6     " 

around  the  promenadedeck 


PORT  SAID 

TO 

SUEZ 


VIII 
THE  GATEWAY  OF  DE  LESSEPS 

IT  is  a  chill  November  morning,  on  a  murmurless 
sea.  The  stars  are  blinking  sleepily,  for  their 
long  night's  vigil  is  about  over.  The  silhouette 
of  the  lookout  shifts  to  the  starboard  side  of  the 
crow's-nest.  He  is  looking  for  something. 

Out  of  the  darkness  flashes  a  light,  far  away  on 
the  right.  I  figure  it  out  as  the  Alexandria  light,  on 
the  site  of  the  first  lighthouse  that  ever  was.  Later 
I  learn  that  it  is  Damiette. 

Rosy  dawn  comes  up  timidly  and  gently,  dead 
ahead.  Pleasant  it  is  to  realize  that  we  are  steering 
straight  for  the  East.  It  is  a  magnificent  sight,  and 
the  man  who  would  rather  be  in  bed — well,  let  him 
be  in  bed.  The  radiance  of  the  dawn  deepens  in 
brilliancy  and  in  colour — and  then  a  glorious  sun 
comes  right  up  out  of  the  water  and  crimsons  the 
whole  eastern  sky.  It  seems  as  if  all  the  ancient 
glory  of  the  barbaric  East  were  bursting  through  the 
Canal  and  coming  out  to  meet  us!  Only  twice  have 
I  seen  such  a  sunrise  before — last  week  at  the  Strait 
of  Gibraltar,  and  years  ago  in  the  Sahara. 

Presently  the  lofty  lighthouse  of  Port  Said  pops 
up  in  the  paling  sunlight  and  the  passengers  come 

76 


THE  GATEWAY  OF  DE  LESSEPS         77 

on  deck.  There  is  De  Lesseps,  waiting  to  usher  us 
into  the  mouth  of  the  Canal.  We  pass  in  between 
the  statue  and  the  dredges,  with  the  waterfront  of 
Port  Said  on  our  right.  On  we  go,  past  "  Hunter's 
Rye  "  and  "  Pear's  Soap,"  and  anchor  near  the  Canal 
Offices.  I  have  had  my  first  view  of  the  Suez  Canal. 

With  equal  vividness,  tinged  with  pathos,  is  my 
last  memory  of  it.  It  is  the  Westward  cruise  now, 
and  this  is  the  last  of  the  Orient.  We  have  come  in 
from  Cairo,  and  the  ship's  band  is  lined  up  to  meet 
us,  playing,  "  I  Don't  know  Why  I  Love  You,  But  I 
Do."  Even  the  music-steward  is  getting  affectionate 
as  the  cruise  nears  its  close !  We  go  up  the  plank  and 
the  Cleveland  picks  up  its  anchor,  like  a  woman  gather- 
ing up  her  skirts,  and  we  slip  slowly  out  past  the  India 
Mail  and  De  Lesseps,  with  the  dainty  fishing-boats 
on  the  far-off  horizon  looking  exactly  like  butterflies 
flitting  over  the  sea. 

From  a  little  rowboat  alongside,  we  have  just  had 
the  smiling  farewell  of  Dr.  Hough,  the  lecturer. 
From  here  he  goes  to  the  Holy  Land,  thence  across 
Europe  to  meet  us  again.  When  the  homeward-bound 
Cleveland  reaches  Cherbourg,  the  wire  says  that  he  is 
dangerously  ill  in  Paris;  and  when  we  dock  at  Ho- 
boken,  they  say  that  he  has  gone  to  the  Holier  Land. 
Surely  he  was  one  of  the  Lord's  noblemen! 

On  landing  at  Port  Said  to  take  the  train  for  Cairo, 
it  was  lucky  for  us  that  the  Reisebiiro  relieved  us  of 
all  hand-baggage,  for  we  fell  into  the  waiting  arms 
of  the  biggest  band  of  the  biggest  rascals  that  the 
sun  ever  shines  upon.  It  is  seldom  that  a  vendor  or 


78  TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

a  dragoman  pesters  me.  All  over  North  Africa  and 
the  Farthest  East,  I  have  found  that  I  can  generally 
sidetrack  him  at  once  by  looking  sternly  in  his  eye 
and  holding  up  the  palm  of  my  hand  in  a  simple,  re- 
pelling gesture.  If  the  first  application  does  not  pro- 
duce the  desired  effect,  I  do  not  argue  nor  do  I  plead 
dire  poverty.  I  offer  him,  in  perfect  seriousness,  ten 
cents  for  a  silk  shawl,  or  two  cents  for  a  necklace  of 
beads.  Almost  invariably  he  leaves  me  in  disgust — 
and  presently  I  see  a  fellow-passenger  frantically  try- 
ing to  shoo  him  off  with  a  stick ! 

But  the  mystic  sign  fails  at  Port  Said.  On  each 
visit  I  have  had  to  walk  about  the  town  with  a 
"  guide  "  whose  services  had  been  declined  in  every 
tongue  whose  alphabet  is  known  to  me.  But  at  the 
pier  I  was  always  the  winner.  The  satisfaction  of 
hearing  him  pour  forth  his  soul  in  the  most  lurid  of 
Arabic  denunciation  when  I  had  left  him  penniless  is 
a  pleasing  memory. 

Port  Said  is  a  dirty,  low-grade  European  town  of 
something  like  25,000  persons.  Of  these,  24,995  are 
"  guides,"  I  believe.  The  other  five  are  in  jail.  The 
town  is  modern  and  has  absolutely  nothing  worth  see- 
ing except  what  may  be  seen  from  a  carriage  or  during 
a  vexatious  walk  in  the  streets.  Go  into  the  pilot's 
office,  if  you  have  time,  and  see  the  wooden  model 
of  the  Canal,  with  the  system  of  flags  marking  the 
position  of  each  vessel  that  is  passing  through.  Go 
also  to  the  De  Lesseps  statue,  standing  there  with  a 
map  of  the  Canal  in  one  hand  and  gracefully  inviting 
the  world  to  enter.  It  bears  the  motto  "  Aperire  ter~ 


THE  GATEWAY  OF  DE  LESSEPS         79 

ram  gentibus,"  which  is,  being  interpreted,   "  I  did 
it  with  my  little  thinker,  gents !  " 

If  you  have  come  to  Port  Said  with  the  expectation 
of  having  all  your  tender  moral  sensibilities  shocked, 
a  great  disappointment  is  in  store  for  you.  Port 
Said  is  dirty  and  smelly  and  coal-dusty,  but  I  agree 
with  Sir  Frederick  Treves  that  "  its  pretence  to  espe- 
cial eminence  in  the  matter  of  depravity  cannot  be 
allowed."  However,  it  is  no  Ocean  Grove  or  Egyp- 
tian Chautauqtta. 

The  Clevelanders  do  not  sail  through  the  Suez 
Canal.  They  do  something  better — ride  alongside  by 
train,  seeing  everything  worth  while  and  saving  a  lot 
of  time.  From  Port  Said  we  followed  the  Canal  to 
Ismailia,  which  is  about  halfway.  There  we  turned 
off  towards  Cairo.  Returning  from  Cairo  to  Ismailia, 
we  followed  the  other  half  of  the  Canal  to  Suez.  Com- 
ing westward,  we  reversed  the  programme. 

The  Suez  half  of  the  trip  is  especially  hot  and 
dusty,  for  the  train  runs  through  hot  sand  and  is  not 
protected  by  an  avenue  of  trees,  like  the  Port  Said 
end.  The  ships  in  transit  are  very  near  and  make 
an  impressive  panorama.  Once  in  a  while,  if  you  keep 
your  eyes  on  the  line  of  the  Canal,  you  may  see  an 
odd  phenomenon.  Half  a  mile  distant,  apparently 
sticking  up  out  of  the  sand,  are  the  funnels  of  a 
steamship.  Were  it  not  for  the  smoke  that  is  coming 
out  of  them,  you  would  wonder  what  wreck  is  buried 
out  here  in  the  drifting  sand  of  the  desert.  Such  is 
the  illusion  across  the  yellow  sand  when  a  dune  in- 
tervenes between  the  train  and  the  waterway. 


80  TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

The  eastern  shore  of  the  Canal  seems  to  be  a  desert 
waste,  except  where  the  waterway  runs  through  a 
lake.  It  is  a  wild  land  but  picturesque,  especially  when 
the  camels  bob  up  along  the  banks  where  the  work- 
men are  enlarging  the  passageway.  On  approaching 
the  lakes,  especially  the  Bitter  Lakes,  you  become  be- 
wildered. Is  that  a  real  village,  a  real  hut,  or  a  real 
cluster  of  palms  on  the  real  margin  of  a  real  lake, 
or  is  it  a  mirage?  Or  is  it  both?  This  Canal  land- 
scape has  been  called  dreary  and  monotonous.  To 
me  it  is  picturesque  beyond  words.  I  have  never  seen 
anything  just  like  it,  not  even  in  the  Sahara. 

Ismailia,  the  halfway-house,  looks  like  a  cluster  of 
diamonds  and  emeralds  when  seen  from'  a  distance, 
but  it  is  really  a  village  of  about  4,000  whose  former 
glory  has  packed  up  and  moved  on. 

Suez,  where  the  Westward  party  leaves  the  ship, 
is  also  a  station  for  pilgrims  on  their  way  to  Mecca. 
It  is  of  further  interest  to  those  who  still  consider  it 
to  be  the  place  where  the  Israelites  crossed  the  Red 
Sea.  The  prevailing  opinion  now  seems  to  be  that  it 
was  higher  up,  at  the  Bitter  Lakes,  perhaps.  Half  a 
day's  journey  from  Suez  are  the  Wells  of  Moses — an 
oasis  out  in  the  desert.  Moses  may  have  drunk  from 
them,  but  you  must  seek  some  other  book  for  that 
assurance. 

There  is  nothing  in  the  town  of  Suez  worth  bother- 
ing about,  and  so  the  party  makes  no  halt  in  the  Arab 
town  itself.  But  when  you  speak  of  the  harbour  of 
Suez — there  is  where  you  arouse  my  enthusiasm.  It 
is  of  a  beautiful  blue,  like  turquoise  in  the  sunlight, 


THE  GATEWAY  OF  DE  LESSEPS         81 

and  the  background  is  bright-yellow  sand  and  a  lofty 
range  of  "black-violet"  cliffs  (Gebel  Attakah).  En- 
rapture yourself  with  the  Bay  of  Naples,  if  you  will. 
I  vote  for  the  Gulf  of  Suez. 

The  story  of  the  Suez  Canal  could  very  easily  be 
told  in  ten  chapters  of  this  book,  but  all  the  essential 
facts  can  be  huddled  together  on  a  piece  of  paper 
small  enough  to  go  into  your  helmet.  Here  they  are : 

The  largest  passenger  boat  that  has  passed  through  the  Canal 
is  the  Cleveland.  The  widest  is  the  drydock  Dewey,  now  at 
Manila. 

It  is  not  the  first  canal  in  Egypt.  Seti  I  started  one  from  the 
Nile  to  the  Red  Sea,  and  Ptolemy  II  finished  it  about  a  thou- 
sand years  later — rapid  work  for  the  Egyptian.  It  lasted  until 
A.D.  761  and  then  went  the  way  of  everything  else  that  the 
Egyptians  ever  tried  to  run. 

De  Lesseps  was  not  the  inventor  of  the  Great  Idea  of  the 
Suez  Canal.  Even  Rameses  and  Napoleon  tinkered  with  the 
idea.  But  De  Lesseps  dug  it. 

Work  was  begun  in  1859  and  finished  in  1869.  It  was  opened 
in  1870,  with  4,000  invited  guests,  including  Empresses  and 
Crown  Princes.  And  there  surely  was  a  hot  time  in  the  old 
town  that  night !  They  didn't  even  have  to  pay  for  scarabs. 

It  cost  about  a  million  dollars  a  mile.  Not  more  than  half  of 
this  was  graft.  It  could  be  dug  to-day  for  about  one-fourth  of 
the  original  cost. 

England  fought  the  Canal  tooth  and  nail  until  it  began  to  creep 
across  the  hot  sand.  Then  the  British  diplomat  began  to  man- 
oeuvre to  get  control.  He  got  it. 

The  Khedive's  shares  were  offered  first  to  France  when  the 
pawnbrokers  went  back  on  him.  The  French  bankers  were 
willing,  but  wanted  their  Government  to  back  them  up.  A  cor- 
respondent got  the  story  and  wired  it  to  London.  Lord  Beacons- 
field  (Disraeli)  got  the  Rothschilds  out  of  bed  at  midnight  and 
borrowed  twenty  million  dollars  on  his  personal  I.O.U.  By 
morning  the  Canal  was  British.  The  French  bankers  read  the 


82  TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

news    in     Le    Temps    that     morning    and    said    as     follows: 
!! (I  *!X!_*_!M!_X*_ 

The  shares  that  Disraeli  bought  for  twenty  millions  are  now 
said  to  be  worth  135  millions.  It  is  Lord  Milner  who  has  asked : 
"  Would  it  really  be  a  very  enormous  sacrifice,  or  a  very  extraor- 
dinary act  of  generosity  on  the  part  of  Great  Britain,  if  we  were 
to  devote  say  one-fourth  of  the  clear  profit  that  we  have  made 
out  of  this  fortunate  transaction  to  the  people  of  the  country 
at  whose  expense  we  have  made  it?" 

There  is  a  statue  of  De  Lesseps  at  Port  Said.  But  where  is 
the  statue  of  Disraeli?  And  where  are  the  two  statues  of  the 
correspondent  who  did  it? 

Ismail,  the  borrower,  died  in  exile.  De  Lesseps,  the  digger, 
died  in  poverty  and  in  a  madhouse.  Said  Pasha,  who  signed  the 
original  contract,  had  Port  Said  named  after  him.  Surely 
"  the  way  of  the  transgressor  is  hard ! " 

The  Canal  is  neutralized  to  the  extent  that  no  nation  can 
use  it  in  time  of  war  to  the  exclusion  of  another.  But  when 
England  goes  to  war  and  a  hostile  fleet  heads  for  the  Canal  on 
the  way  to  attack  India,  you  will  see  that  there  are  tricks  even 
in  canal  trades. 

The  distance  from  England  to  India  by  the  old  route  is 
10,860  miles;  by  the  Canal,  4,620.  Your  trip  from  New  York 
to  Bombay  has  been  shortened  by  about  3,500  miles — all  sea- 
miles,  too. 

The  Canal  is  about  100  miles  long.  Width  at  waterline,  80 
to  90  yards.  Depth  about  thirty  feet.  There  is  a  siding  every 
few  miles,  with  a  system  of  block  signals.  The  speed-limit  is 
six  miles  an  hour,  except  in  the  lakes.  Average  transit  takes 
17  hours.  Electric  lights  help  at  night. 

On  an  average,  about  a  dozen  ships  a  day  pass  through,  two- 
thirds  of  them  being  British.  Passengers  average  about  650 
a  day,  one  in  three  being  a  soldier.  The  fare  is  $2  per  passenger 
and  $1.50  per  net  ton  for  ships.  The  gross  annual  income  is 
about  $25,000,000. 

It  costs  the  Cleveland  about  $25,000  to  go  through.  By  send- 
ing the  passengers  to  Cairo  by  train  and  taking  them  aboard 
again  at  Suez  (and  vice  versa),  $1,000  is  saved.  But  the  pas- 
sengers have  twenty-four  hours  longer  in  Cairo  at  expensive 
hotels ! 


CAIRO 


IX 

THROUGH  THE  LAND  OF  GOSHEN 
i 

DID  we  have  one  grand  time  in  Cairo?  We  cer- 
tainly did.  Joy-rides  on  the  rolling  camel, 
dances  at  Shepheard's  with  officers  of  the 
Scots  Guards,  sail-boats  on  the  mystic  Nile,  drives 
to  the  Citadel  and  Ghezireh,  moonlight  at  the  Pyra- 
mids and  the  Sphinx,  coffee  at  the  Cafe  Egyptienne, 
wild  dissipation  in  the  silk  and  bead  bazaars,  nights 
in  the  Streets  of  Cairo — home  was  never  like  this! 
We  love  our  India  and  Japan,  but  oh,  you  Cairo ! 

And  did  Cairo  have  a  grand  time  with  us?  It  cer- 
tainly did.  It  sold  us  fake  scarabs  to  its  heart's  con- 
tent. It  unloaded  all  the  bead-necklaces  and  spangled 
shawls  that  were  left  over  from  the  last  tourist  party. 
It  raked  in  the  gold-pieces  for  guiding  us  to  "  sights  " 
that  were  free  to  all-comers.  And  it 

But  how  else  do  you  expect  Pharaoh  to  make  a 
living  without  work? 

It  all  comes  back  to-night  like  a  journey  in  our 
dreams,  that  hot  afternoon  ride  from  Ismailia  to 
Cairo.  The  dazzling  light;  the  mingling  of  clover 
growing  green  with  the  golden  waves  of  ripening 
grain;  the  men  with  the  short  hoe  in  the  cotton-fields 
and  the  daughters  of  Egypt  with  water-jars;  the  white 

83 


84  TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

donkeys,  the  creaking  water-wheels,  the  rising  and 
falling  shadoofs — and  then  that  wonderful  sunset  be- 
hind the  palms,  seen  across  the  level  of  a  landscape 
whose  picturesque  beauty  cannot  be  surpassed  in  any 
of  the  younger  lands. 

As  we  are  being  whirled  across  the  burning  sand 
in  the  early  afternoon,  a  small  station  flashes  by  and 
the  eye  catches  the  signboard — TEL-EL-KEBIR ! 
This  is  the  one  spot  of  historic  interest  on  the  way, 
for  here  it  was  that  a  little  handful  of  soldiers  in 
brown  made  England  the  successor  of  the  Pharaohs. 
Just  on  the  other  side  is  a  little  cemetery  with  Chris- 
tian crosses  in  it — that  must  be  the  place  where  the 
fallen  of  England  lie  buried. 

At  Zagazig  we  pause  for  refreshments.  A  stage- 
villain  with  a  tray  of  lemonade  looks  to  me  like  a 
life-buoy  to  a  man  struggling  in  the  water.  I  drink 
one  glass  and  give  him  a  shilling.  Another  passenger 
does  the  same.  The  villain  short-changes  us,  hoping 
that  the  train  will  move  before  we  can  count  our 
piastres  and  translate  them  into  shillings  and  cents. 
The  signal  is  given  and  the  train  starts.  The  other 
man  gets  even  by  grabbing  a  second  glass  and  drink- 
ing it.  I  grab  three  empty  glasses  and  the  villain's 
fez.  Result :  I  get  my  change.  No  mistake  about  it ; 
this  is  Egypt! 

The  official  programme  begins  with  hotel  life  in  the 
city  of  the  Nile.  We  landed  in  the  two  best  places 
in  Cairo,  right  in  the  thickest  of  things.  Those  who 
could  not  be  happy  without  writing  to  the  home  town 
on  Shepheard's  stationery,  went  in  that  direction. 


THROUGH  THE  LAND  OF  GOSHEN       85 

Those  who  were  a  little  finicky  about  their  food  went 
to  the  Continental.  The  block  between  the  two  was 
a  jam  of  travellers  and  dragomen  from  that  time  on, 
and  citizens  took  to  the  other  sidewalk. 

Now,  of  all  places  in  the  world,  this  is  the  one 
where  it  pays  to  sit  around  the  hotel  porch.  These 
hotels  have  broad  terraces  elevated  above  the  side- 
walk, and  the  street  is  a  continuous  performance  that 
cannot  be  matched  anywhere.  The  programme  is 
changed  at  different  hours  of  the  day,  but  you  may  get 
some  idea  of  it  in  the  evening  if  I  insert  here  a  page 
or  two  from  a  traveller's  notebook: 


I  stroll  out  on  the  terrace  of  the  Continental.  The  other  pas- 
sengers are  all  at  the  ball  at  Shepheard's,  and  the  tables  here 
amid  the  potted  palms  are  nearly  deserted.  Yonder  is  an  Eng- 
lishman, content  merely  to  sit  at  his  ease.  Here  comes  a 
Frenchman,  seeking  a  more  exotic  form  of  recreation.  There  at 
the  railing  is  a  clean-shaven  American,  with  a  twinkle  in  his 
eye  as  he  compares  it  with  Main  Street  at  home.  Each  has  his 
lady,  and  each  lady  is  arrayed  in  the  most  joyful  millinery  that 
she  possesses.  But  this  is  only  the  audience  in  the  box;  the 
show  is  outside. 

The  street  between  the  sidewalks  is  visible  over  the  railing. 
Electric-cars  and  victorias  pass  in  a  bewildering  procession,  with 
an  auto  full  of  Turks  every  minute.  Some  kind  of  a  European 
comes  along  on  a  white  donkey,  chaperoned  by  a  native.  Fol- 
lows a  blind  man  led  by  a  boy.  A  big  red  mail-wagon,  with 
Star  and  Crescent  and  the  letters  "  G.  P.  O.,"  comes  next.  Then 
a  two-wheeled  cart  drawn  by  a  donkey,  who  is  in  turn  drawn 
by  an  Egyptian  in  rags ;  a  woman  in  black  with  closely  veiled 
face  sits  squarely  in  the  centre  of  the  wagon.  And  now  a 
gaudy  push-cart — the  ice-cream  parlour! 

And  so  the  stream  of  life  flows  on,  amid  all  the  changing 
dynasties.  The  city  is  yet  so  truly  Oriental  that  the  foreigner 
is  lost  in  the  crowd.  Faces  of  every  type  known  to  this 


86  TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

Eastern  world  are  here — Turk  and  Arab,  Copt  and  Armenian, 
Hindu  and  Sudanese,  Jew  and  Italian,  fellah  and  townsman, 
pasha  and  policeman.  Now  and  then,  like  a  spectre  in  black, 
glides  the  silent,  shrouded  woman  of  Egypt,  her  piercing  eyes 
looking  out  upon  the  world  as  from  a  cage.  But  strangest  of 
all  is  the  absence  of  childhood  from  the  street. 

The  British  also  are  rare.  Once  in  a  while  a  trio  of  artillery- 
men or  a  duet  of  the  Scots  saunters  by,  but  the  majority  of  the 
whites  are  from  other  nations.  Nearly  all  of  the  women  and 
girls  who  pass  with  their  escorts  have  pallid  faces.  This  is 
evidently  not  a  happy  land  for  the  white  woman. 

I  go  over  to  the  railing.  Here,  of  course,  I  am  free  from  in- 
trusion, for  there  are  three  kinds  of  policemen  guarding  the 
steps.  Pacing  up  and  down  the  sidewalk  is  a  trim  officer  with 
red  fez  and  black  moustache.  He  wears  a  close-fitting  uniform 
of  black,  with  a  tan  belt  and  tan  holster  for  his  club.  The 
second  variety  sits  in  a  chair.  He  wears  a  small  black  fez,  a 
red  zouave  blouse  covered  with  gold  braid,  blue  trousers,  and 
putties.  Then  there  are  the  gorgeous  hotel  police  in  scarlet 
tunics  and  skirts,  with  fezzes  and  gold  braid. 

But  I  soon  discover  that  these  gentlemen  are  mainly  for 
decorative  purposes,  for  the  dragomen  and  vendors  have  full 
swing  at  me.  First  come  the  dragomen,  who  are  in  semi- 
European  costume  or  in  long  night-gowns  and  sashes.  "  Good- 
evening,  Sir !  "  is  the  way  each  begins.  One,  who  explains  that 
he  was  guide  to  Mr.  Robert  Hichens,  wants  to  take  me  to  see 
the  Pyramids  by  moonlight.  No  ?  "  Then  you  want  guide 
to-morrow?"  "You  want  go  see  girl  dance?"  And  so  on 
through  the  list  of  questions.  As  soon  as  one  drops  the  case  as 
hopeless,  another  steps  up  and  begins  where  his  predecessor 
began.  It  takes  half  an  hour  for  the  troupe  to  convince  them- 
selves that  I  am  anchored  on  the  terrace. 

Now  the  vendors  begin.  The  following  is  an  exact  record  of 
a  half-hour.  Three  in  baby-blue  night-dresses  and  white  tur- 
bans want  to  sell  flowers.  One  in  pale  blue  insists  that  I  need 
a  reed  fly-brush.  Another,  in  dark  blue,  has  an  armful  of  post- 
cards and  postage-stamps  for  collectors.  A  newsboy  with  the 
Egyptienne  gets  the  first  piastre  simply  because  it  is  pleasant 
to  see  a  boy  for  a  change. 

Now  comes  a  Turk  in  a  blue  nightie,  over  which  he  wears 


THROUGH  THE  LAND  OF  GOSHEN       87 

a  black  overcoat;  he  has  canes  for  the  American.  He  is  fol- 
lowed by  a  handsome  young  Turk  with  a  load  of  "  silver " 
shawls.  This  young  man  behind  him,  who  adds  a  touch  of 
brown  to  the  brilliant  landscape,  is  eager  to  part  with  black  and 
white  ostrich  feathers.  I  shoo  him  away  and  am  sorry,  for  he 
is  succeeded  by  a  beardless  thief  with  a  box  of  scarabs.  A 
native  in  white  with  a  black  cap  and  jacket  comes  along  with 
doilies  embroidered  with  Egyptian  hieroglyphics.  I  buy  one, 
and  am  instantly  besieged  by  a  man  with  a  stack  of  red  fezzes, 
another  with  a  load  of  cheap  jewelry,  a  small  hunchback  with 
an  armful  of  weekly  papers,  and  an  old  man  with  an  armful  of 
buggy-whips.  Next  is  the  bread-wagon — a  man  with  a  basket 
suspended  from  his  neck,  and  with  the  rings  of  bread  sus- 
pended by  pegs.  Even  he  tries  to  tap  the  till  of  the  opulent 
traveller. 

Observe  that,  as  a  rule,  only  one  vendor  of  a  kind  is  given 
honourable  mention  in  this  list.  I  regret  that  I  kept  no  count 
of  the  duplicates  thrown  into  the  discard. 

Physically  and  mentally  weary  of  the  turmoil,  I  stroll  down 
the  Sharia  Kamel,  past  the  gaily  decorated  terrace  of  Shep- 
heard's,  past  a  combination  of  goat  and  monkey  and  tambourine, 
and  fetch  up  at  the  Cafe  Egyptienne.  Here  are  the  upper-class 
Orientals,  sipping  coffee,  playing  dominoes,  and  listening  to  the 
orchestra  of  European  girls.  On  I  go,  past  cafe  after  cafe  of 
fair-skinned  men  in  fezzes — always  drinking  black  coffee  and 
playing  dominoes  and  talking  politics.  This  must  be  "  Young 
Egypt."  I  slip  into  the  El  Dorado  and  find  a  smoky,  boisterous 
audience  enraptured  with  a  decidedly  inferior  performance  of 
the  dance  that  made  the  Streets  of  Cairo  famous.  In  a  narrow 
street  I  am  passed  by  a  platoon  of  mounted  European  police, 
patrolling  the  lower  world.  I  hear  the  unmistakable  strains  of 
the  weird  dance  music  again  and  pursue  it — discovering  that  it 
comes  from  a  meat-market  where  an  auction  is  evidently  in 
progress.  The  French  language  greets  my  ears  on  every  side. 
Turkish  and  Russian  houries  of  Omar  Khayyam's  dream  are 
flaunting  themselves  on  the  balconies,  some  even  in  the  street. 
I  turn  up  a  dark  side-street,  revel  in  an  Arab  quarter  of  vil- 
lainous men  drinking  villainous  coffee,  and  finally  become  glori- 
ously lost.  After  an  hour's  floundering,  I  hear  the  snapping  of 
whips  and  know  that  one  of  the  main  streets  is  dead  ahead. 


88  TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

Eventually  I  land  at  the  Continental's  terrace  again,  wondering 
what  the  respectable  women  of  Cairo  do  in  the  long  evenings 
while  their  lords  are  all  in  the  cafes. 

The  next  morning  the  carriages  whirl  us  away  for 
the  big  show — the  Pyramids  and  the  Sphinx.  Over 
the  Nile  Bridge,  flanked  at  either  end  by  large  and 
hungry  British  lions;  past  the  Kasr-el-Nile  Terrace 
on  the  farther  side,  with  "  Skating  Rink "  and 
"American  Bowling"  in  big  letters;  past  a  row  of 
billboards  in  French  and  English  and  Egyptian;  and 
then  we  come  to  the  beautiful  boulevard  that  runs 
almost  straight  to  the  Great  Pyramid,  with  the  pal- 
aces of  wealthy  Turks  on  either  hand. 

This  being  neither  a  guide-book  nor  a  history,  I 
shall  not  weary  anybody  with  a  cartful  of  Egyptian 
lore  about  Cheops.  It  is  enough  to  say  that  the  Great 
Pyramid  comes  fully  up  to  the  specifications,  though 
it  doesn't  look  large  enough  to  cover  its  thirteen  acres. 
Its  height  is  impressive  as  you  stand  at  its  base,  but 
the  best  way  to  get  impressiveness  is  to  climb  it. 
The  blocks  of  stone  of  which  it  is  built  are  so  large 
and  high  that  a  lady  with  tight  skirts  cannot  climb 
at  all,  even  with  two  dragomen  pulling  and  pushing. 
(Try  standing  on  one  foot  and  placing  the  other  on 
the  dining-room  table :  that  is  the  Pyramid  Step. )  A 
good  climber  can  reach  the  top  in  about  an  hour,  but 
he  will  not  feel  like  skipping  the  rope  the  next  day. 
It  isn't  worth  while  to  go  inside  the  Pyramid;  better 
to  be  on  the  outside  looking  in.  There  are  other  pyra- 
mids in  the  vicinity,  but  they  don't  matter. 

These  pyramids  stand  on  an  elevation,  in  a  waste 


BUXOM  SORCERESSES  OF  THE  NILE 


WHAT  WOULD  RAMESES  THINK  OF  THIS? 


THROUGH  THE  LAND  OF  GOSHEN       89 

of  yellow  sand.  You  look  around  for  the  Sphinx  and 
find  that  somebody  has  moved  it.  It  is  certainly  not 
in  sight.  Along  comes  a  native  in  a  soiled  gown,  with 
a  mangy  camel;  this  is  his  inning.  You  are  to  ride 
to  the  Sphinx. 

Away  we  go,  around  the  base  of  Cheops  and  around 
another  pyramid — and  the  mystery  is  solved.  The 
Sphinx  is  at  the  base  of  the  sand-hill  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  beyond.  Your  first  view  is  the  back  of  the  head, 
and  as  you  wind  around  the  road  you  come  to  a  point 
where  it  appears  as  shown  in  the  illustration  herewith. 
A  deep  ravine  is  hollowed  out  in  front  of  the  image 
and  the  traveller  has  himself  photographed  on  the 
edge  of  this  canyon,  with  the  Sphinx  and  the  Great 
Pyramid  in  the  background.  But  it  is  a  hopeless  task 
to  try  to  give  to  another  a  vivid  impression  of  Sphinx 
or  Pyramid.  They  must  be  seen  in  their  own  pictur- 
esque setting,  with  the  glare  of  the  brilliant  sun  in 
your  eyes,  and  the  dead  past  all  about. 

It  happened  that  both  of  the  Cleveland  parties  saw 
this  unforgettable  scene  by  moonlight  also.  •  To  see 
the  yellow  moon  come  up  solemnly  across  the  distant 
horizon  of  unbroken  sand  and  slowly  light  up  the  tip 
of  the  Pyramid  and  finally  illumine  the  grim  face  of 
the  Sphinx — that  is  something  to  carry  in  memory. 
Were  it  not  for  the  chatter  and  the  noise,  it  would  be 
a  moment  of  even  greater  impressiveness.  In  any 
other  land,  you  could  take  the  guides  firmly  by  the 
back  of  the  neck  and  sit  upon  them,  but  the  Egyptian 
is  incontrollable.  He  insists,  at  the  crucial  moment, 
in  descending  into  the  canyon  and  igniting  a  calcium 


90  TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

light — when  you  have  come  all  this  distance  to  see 
the  moon  slowly  and  gradually  bring  out  the  details 
of  that  wonderful  face.  And  then,  after  the  guide 
has  spoiled  the  best  moment,  he  makes  a  tumult  if 
you  do  not  pay  him  for  it! 

Do  you  remember  Elihu  Vedder's  painting  of  "  The 
Riddle  of  the  Sphinx  " — a  man  stooping  with  his  ear 
to  those  silent  lips?  When  you  see  the  Sphinx,  the 
remembrance  of  the  painting  brings  a  smile.  It  would 
take  a  fireman's  ladder  to  reach  those  lips! 

On  the  afternoon  of  this  first  full  day  in  Cairo, 
you  go,  let  us  say,  to  the  Mosque  of  Sultan  Hassan, 
which  was  built  of  stones  from  the  pyramids.  Then 
you  drive  up  to  the  Citadel,  inspect  the  alabaster 
mosque  of  Mohammed  Ali,  and  overlook  the  city  of 
Cairo  and  the  Tombs  of  the  Mamelukes.  Then  you 
are  ready  for  the  hotel  terrace,  dinner  in  or  out  of 
evening  dress,  and  "  independent  action."  If  you  are 
not  to  be  lured  by  dance  music  in  the  palm  garden, 
or  the  fantastic  life  of  the  streets,  you  may  drive  down 
to  the  Nile  and  charter  a  little  felucca.  To  float  on 
the  Nile  by  moonlight — that  also  is  something  worth 
thinking  about. 

The  next  morning  you  go  to  El  Azhar,  the  largest 
Mohammedan  University  in  the  world,  and  see  per- 
haps five  or  six  thousand  men  and  boys  doing  nothing 
worth  their  while.  It  is  a  Babel  of  tongues,  for  the 
work  is  mostly  that  of  memorizing  the  Koran,  and 
everybody  talks  aloud.  The  most  highly  entertaining 
form  of  amusement  here  is  the  explanation  of  your 
guide.  His  inventive  genius  is  something  to  marvel  at. 


THROUGH  THE  LAND  OF  GOSHEN       91 

One  of  these  Mohammedan  gentlemen  was  explain- 
ing all  the  mysteries  of  the  place  to  a  group  of  pas- 
sengers, when  I  called  his  attention  to  a  student  with 
coloured  pictures  in  his  hand.  I  expressed  surprise, 
in  view  of  the  fact  that  "  graven  images  "  are  a  viola- 
tion of  the  Law  of  the  Prophet.  He  went  to  the 
boy  and  returned  with  the  pictures.  It  was  a  scene, 
he  explained,  that  represented  the  soldiers  of  the 
Prophet  capturing  the  spot  on  which  the  university 
stood.  I  took  a  good  look  and  begged  for  details. 
He  then  pointed  out  Mohammed's  men  and  the  sol- 
diers of  the  enemy,  elaborating  with  much  detail  and 
profound  seriousness.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  pic- 
tures were  lithographs  from  some  European  book  and 
represented  the  uniforms  of  the  officers  and  privates 
of  Austrian  Hussars!  Most  of  the  information  sup- 
plied to  travellers  by  guides  is  of  equal  authenticity. 
But  it  goes!  Look  at  your  notebook  and  see! 

From  the  University,  you  go  to  the  Bazaars — that 
is,  you  go  shopping.  To  the  second  person  masculine, 
a  word  of  caution:  ride  in  a  carriage  in  which  there 
is  no  third  person  feminine,  else  you  may  meet  the 
cows  coming  home  when  you  get  away. 

For  the  afternoon  of  this  day  there  are  two  things 
especially  worth  while.  One  is  a  visit  to  the  great 
Museum.  It  is  in  some  respects  the  most  interesting 
that  you  will  see  around  the  world.  An  entire  after- 
noon can  be  spent  to  great  advantage  here,  even  by 
the  careless  traveller.  The  important  thing,  of  course, 
is  to  see  the  mummies  of  the  Pharaohs — to  look  upon 
the  very  faces  of  men  whose  names  are  associated 


92  TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

with  some  of  the  great  historical  and  Biblical  events 
in  the  life  of  the  world. 

I  take  great  credit  to  myself  for  having  recognized 
Rameses  II  by  sight.  I  was  looking  for  him — a 
mummy  in  an  erect  position — and  was  passing  through 
one  hall  into  another,  where  I  hoped  to  find  him  for 
myself.  In  passing  a  show-case,  I  glanced  casually 
at  the  shrivelled  face — and  stopped  short.  After  a 
second  look  I  examined  the  label,  and  it  was  indeed 
Rameses  the  Great! 

But  the  drive  through  Old  Cairo  at  the  sunset  hour 
— that  is  something  not  to  be  missed.  The  oldest 
mosque  in  Cairo  is  there,  and  it  is  one  of  the  most 
picturesque.  And  there  you  may  enter  a  Coptic 
Church  of  very  great  antiquity.  The  attendant  will 
show  you  the  place  where  Joseph,  Mary,  and  the 
Child  rested  during  "  The  Flight  into  Egypt."  I  trust 
it  is  no  sacrilege  to  say  that  the  evidence  is  circum- 
stantial. From  this  point  you  may  journey  down  to 
the  island  of  Rhoda  and  see  where  the  daughter  of 
Pharaoh  found  Moses  in  the  bullrushes ! 

On  your  last  night  in  Cairo,  in  the  company  of 
fellow-passengers  whose  wholesome  personalities  are 
a  safeguard,  get  a  good  guide  to  pilot  you  through 
"  the  Fish  Market " — the  street  of  the  caged  women. 
In  depth  and  extent  of  depravity,  in  filth  and  bar- 
baric gaudiness,  it  probably  has  no  equal  in  any  of 
the  world's  reservoirs  of  vice.  It  haunts  the  memory 
as  Dante  must  have  been  haunted  by  his  Inferno. 


THE  ROCKY  UPHILL  ROAD  AT  CHEOPS 


X 

THE  PASSAGE  OF  THE  RED  SEA 

THE  Israelites,  on  a  former  cruise,  went  through 
on  dry  land,  but  it  was  quite  moist  when  we 
came  along.  But  Moses  was  steering  north- 
easterly, whereas  we  were  headed  southeast. 

In  this  passage  of  the  Red  Sea  I  feel  that  I  have 
missed  something — something  besides  the  fine  camera 
that  vanished  on  the  boat  between  Perim  and  Suez. 
From  Sandy  Hook  to  Suez  and  from  San  Francisco 
to  Bombay,  the  one  unfailing  subject  of  deck  con- 
versation was  the  hotness  of  the  Red  Sea.  And  it  will 
be  ever  so,  even  when  the  passage  is  being  made  on 
a  Zeppelin  Cruise. 

Then  there  are  the  books.  "  Murray's  "  goes  into 
great  detail  by  saying  that  "  the  heat  is  great."  Sir 
Frederick  Treves  writes  of  "  gasping  and  damp 
women  who  had  spent  a  night  of  steamy  misery  be- 
low." And  it  is  something  less  cool  and  refreshing 
than  an  oven  described  by  my  friend  Franck  in  "  A 
Vagabond  Journey  Around  the  World " — the  best 
book  of  travel  that  has  been  published  in  years.  (Of 
course,  when  this  sentence  was  written,  this  book  had 
not  yet  been  published!) 

After  all  this  conversation  and  this  sizzling,  frying 


94  TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

literature,  I  had  a  right  to  look  forward  to  the  transit 
of  the  Red  Sea  as  an  event  to  be  remembered,  just 
as  a  wise  and  experienced  cat  recalls  that  day  in  his 
callow  youth  when  he  nonchalantly  sat  on  a  hot  stove- 
lid. 

Now  I  am  no  press-agent  for  the  Red  Sea — but  just 
how  hot  was  it  really  was?  Let's  ask  the  ship's  ther- 
mometer, which  has  no  bias  in  either  direction. 

Eastward  Cruise. — Nov.  10,  at  Suez,  69.8°  F.  Nov.  n,  at  noon, 
82.4°,  and  at  4  P.M.  86.9°.  Nov.  12  and  13,  noon,  84.2.° 

Westward  Cruise. — May  i,  noon,  90.5°  F. ;  at  4  P.M.  it  was 
93.2°  but  dropped  to  84.2°  at  night.  May  3,  noon,  80.6°.  Gradu- 
ally cooler  until  it  reached  73.4°  on  May  5  at  Suez. 

Sir  Frederick  Treves — ist  day,  noon,  70°.  2d  day,  82°.  3d 
and  4th  days,  88° ;  and  in  the  lower  cabins  90°. 

As  a  further  contribution  to  the  subject,  I  offer 
the  following  from  my  notebook.  Eastward :  "  Red 
Sea  like  any  other  sea.  Ship's  crew  in  white;  heat 
not  intense."  And  yet  I  was  spending  much  of  the 
time  in  a  cabin  at  the  waterline,  with  the  port-hole 
and  all  other  ventilation  sealed  up  in  order  to  make 
the  cabin  a  dark-room.  The  entries  on  the  Westward 
voyage  are  as  follows : 

May  i. — Red  hot  at  noon ;  water  rough ;  ship  rocking.  Full 
moon  but  hot,  except  in  spots.  May  2.  Cool  in  afternoon ;  shut 
off  electric  fan  at  night  and  slept  under  coverlet.  May  3.  Cool 
and  windy;  shut  off  fan  all  day.  May  4.  Cool  headwind;  white 
suits  disappearing  from  deck.  May  5.  Cool  and  breezy  at  Suez. 
No  place  for  "  tropical  outfit." 


THE  PASSAGE  OF  THE  RED  SEA        95 

So  much  for  the  Great  Solar  Myth.  The  Red  Sea 
is  a  state  of  mind.  Now  for  a  little  geography. 

With  the  exception  of  the  short  run  through  the 
Gulf  of  Suez,  land  is  seen  only  at  a  great  distance — 
a  few  barren  islands  excepted — for  the  Sea  is  from 
100  to  200  miles  wide.  Stop  in  either  corner  of  the 
promenade  deck  and  learn  why  the  Red  Sea  is  red. 
In  this  corner — listen  intently — the  name  is  a  contrac- 
tion of  "  Red  Hot  Sea."  Pass  to  the  next  corner 
and  listen.  The  Red  Sea  is  red  because  of  its  colour ! 
Everybody  looks  over  the  rail  and,  sure  enough!  it 
has  a  reddish  tinge.  But  it  hasn't. 

Eastward  bound,  we  were  near  land  all  of  the  first 
afternoon,  being  in  the  Gulf.  The  islands  of  the 
Three  Brothers  early  the  next  morning  showed  that 
we  were  at  last  in  the  Red  Sea.  Here  is  the  list 
of  landmarks: 

ist  day:  Sailed  from  Suez  at  3  P.M.    Passed  Mt.  Sinai  between 

8  and  9  P.M. 
2d   day:  The  Three  Brothers  at  8  A.M. 

Daedalus  Island  at  2  P.M.     St.  John's,  5:30.    • 
3d   day :  Jebel  Tair  at  8  A.M. 

Off  Mocha  at  6:30  P.M.    No  odour  of  coffee! 

Passed  Perim  at  10  P.M. 
4th  day:  Passed  Aden  at  6  A.M. 

WESTWARD 

ist  day :  Passed  Aden  at  3  A.M. 

Passed  Perim  at  9  A.M. 

Off  Mocha  at  noon. 
4th  day:  Three  Brothers  at  6:17  A.M. 

Mt.  Sinai  at  5  P.M. 
5th day:  Suez  at  5:30  A.M. 


96  TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

The  range  of  which  Sinai  is  a  part  is  easily  visible 
for  a  long  time,  but  the  Mount  of  the  Law  itself  can 
be  seen  for  but  a  few  minutes.  The  Captain  blows 
a  whistle  at  the  optical  moment. 

The  Island  of  Perim  is  a  place  of  great  strategic 
importance — and  therefore  it  is  a  British  possession. 
It  is  at  the  narrowest  part  of  the  Strait  of  Bab-el- 
Mandeb,  about  a  mile  and  a  half  from  the  Arabian 
coast  and  nine  miles  from  Africa.  It  has  a  harbour 
and  a  blockhouse  and  a  hot  village.  Its  coaling  station 
is  one  of  the  best  in  the  East  and  is  protected  by  a 
small  garrison  of  soldiers  from  Aden.  You  may  see 
the  salvage  steamers  of  Perim  as  you  pass.  This 
island  is  a  melancholy  place  where  even  water  is 
not  to  be  found.  The  population  is  irrigated  from 
a  condensing  plant. 

Aden,  around  the  bend  in  Arabia,  has  been  British 
since  1839.  Its  lighthouse  is  visible  for  twenty  miles. 
Its  reputation  for  heat  equals  that  of  the  Red  Sea. 

The  only  land  visible  in  the  Indian  Ocean  is  the 
island  of  Socotra,  east  of  Cape  Guardafui;  it  is  four 
days  this  side  of  Bombay.  Don't  worry  if  the  boat 
misses  it.  During  these  long  evenings  on  the  summer 
sea,  you  might  go  up  to  the  roof-garden  and  help 
Geraldine  locate  the  Southern  Cross! 


BOMBAY 


XI 
BOMBAY,  PARSEE,  AND  KIPLING 

TO  stand  upon  a  steamer's  deck  and  watch  a 
strange  Oriental  city  drift  slowly  toward  you 
in  the  morning  sunlight — that  brings  back  the 
old  thrill  that  used  to  come  every  Christmas  morning 
when  you  saw  the  bulging  stocking.     And  can  you 
not  now  recall  the  thrill  of  that  morning  when  we 
rounded  the  lighthouse  that  sentinels  the  Arabian  Sea 
and  entered  the  magnificent  harbour  of  Bombay,  the 
city  in  which  Kipling  was  born? 

The  eye  swept  an  expanse  of  anchorage  that  ex- 
tended six  or  seven  miles,  having  a  waterfront  crowned 
with  stately  buildings.  Beyond,  it  rested  upon  the 
roof-tops  of  a  million  people — "  all  races  from  all 
lands."  The  morning  sunlight  flashed  from  the  sail- 
boats of  the  Royal  Bombay  Yacht  Club  and  lighted 
up  the  printed  page  before  me — the  dedication  of 
"  The  Seven  Seas  " : 

"TO  THE  CITY  OF  BOMBAY" 

"  So  thank  I  God  my  birth  And  gave  me  right  to  pride. 

Fell    not    in    isles    aside —  Surely  in  toil  or  fray 
Waste  headlands  of  the  earth,         Under  an  alien  sky, 

Or  warring  tribes   untried —  Comfort  it  is  to  say: 
But  that  she  lent  me  worth  Of  no  mean  city  am  I." 

97 


98  TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

And  then  that  last  view,  as  we  swept  majestically 
out!  There,  ever  dominating  the  landscape,  rises  the 
dome  of  our  old  hotel,  the  Taj  Mahal  Palace,  where 
we  sat  around  in  the  beautiful  lounge  and  drank 
lemon  squash!  Beyond  are  the  beautiful  Victoria 
Station  and  the  towers  and  pinnacles  of  all  the  great 
modern  city  that  has  upreared  itself  with  such  rapidity, 
the  queenly  city  that  Kipling  has  praised.  There  is 
Queen's  Road,  winding  around  Back  Bay  by  the  Burn- 
ing Ghat,  and  onward  to  the  bungalows  of  Malabar 
Hill.  And  there,  upon  the  ridge,  are  the  treetops 
sentinelled  by  the  gruesome  vultures  that  await  the 
next  procession  of  wyhite-robed  figures  that  shall  wind 
up  the  stairway  to  those  weird  Towers  of  Silence! 
On  the  right,  fast  fading  into  the  grey  of  the  horizon, 
is  the  island  of  Elephanta,  with  its  caves  and  deserted 
altars. 

But,  next  to  the  Towers,  the  vision  that  comes 
oftenest  to  me  as  I  think  of  Bombay  is  that  of  the 
Native  Town — all  that  confused  jumble  of  streets  of 
which  the  names  of  Bhendi  Bazaar  and  Grant  Road 
are  alone  distinct.  Nowhere  else  in  India,  not  even 
in  Benares,  was  humanity  so  massed,  so  hopeless,  so 
pitiful.  And  when  I  think  of  the  extent  and  the 
degradation  and  utter  wretchedness  of  the  life  that 
feebly  pulsates  there,  I  have  it  not  in  my  heart  to 
sing  the  praises  of  Bombay.  Surely  there  is  genius 
enough  as  well  as  money  enough  in  that  metropolis 
to  bring  surcease  to  some  of  its  sorrow ! 

I  turn  the  Bombay  newspapers  of  April  2Oth  and 
read  the  health  report :  Fourteen  attacks  of  smallpox, 


BOMBAY,  PARSEE,  AND  KIPLING         99 

with  eleven  deaths;  fifteen  new  cases  of  plague  and  six- 
teen deaths;  one  attack  of  cholera  and  one  death — all 
on  this  one  day.  And  the  Times  of  India  gives  me  the 
record  of  all  India  for  the  week  ending  April  i3th — 
13,490  cases  of  plague,  with  11,305  deaths!  But  I 
do  not  forget  the  stupendous  task  that  confronts  every 
administrator  as  he  awakes  in  the  morning,  the  task 
of  lifting  a  caste-ridden  race  that  lacks  also  the  energy 
to  stand  after  it  has  been  lifted.  Nor  do  I  forget  the 
patient  labour  of  the  doctors  up  there  at  the  Research 
Laboratory,  who  daily  "  milk  "  the  poison-sacs  of  the 
cobras  to  provide  a  serum  that  will  save  from  death 
thousands  who  are  so  blind  that  they  will  not  kill  the 
reptile  that  bit  them,  lest  they  thereby  murder  a  human 
soul  that  has  been  reincarnated  in  that  form !  But  let 
us  not  overlook  the  fact  that  this  is  a  book  of  travel, 
not  of  economics  or  sociology. 

Whether  you  come  from  the  West  with  eyes  that 
are  new,  or  from  the  East  with  vision  dimmed  by 
its  glare  and  gaud,  Bombay  has  something  for  the 
traveller's  eye  that  may  be  seen  under  no  other  tent — 
the  Parsee  community.  And  in  designating  it  as  the 
chief  "  sight "  of  Bombay,  I  do  so  with  unqualified 
respect  for  what  I  consider  the  finest  race  of  Oriental 
people  in  the  world. 

The  Parsee  is  essentially  Oriental,  however  com- 
pletely he  may  be  Europeanized.  Persian  in  origin 
and  Zoroastrian  in  religion,  he  has  been  in  or  near 
Bombay  for  twelve  centuries,  and  it  is  lucky  for  that 
city  that  this  is  so.  He  has  not  taken  unto  wife  a 
daughter  of  the  Hittites  or  of  the  Moabites;  he  has 


100          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

not  bowed  down  before  strange  gods;  he  has  not 
lifted  up  his  hand  against  his  brother  in  civil  or  re- 
ligious strife;  and  he  has  munificently  bestowed  his 
worldly  goods  to  feed  and  otherwise  bless  the  poor 
of  his  adopted  city. 

They  may  aptly,  and  complimentarily,  be  called  the 
Jews  of  India — and  if  they  be  not  in  truth  descended 
from  one  of  the  Twelve  Tribes,  then  I  know  not  an 
Israelite  when  I  see  him.  The  Taj  Mahal  Palace,  the 
finest  hotel  in  all  the  East,  is  Parsee.  The  chief  places 
of  business  bear  the  names  of  Parsee  firms.  The  best- 
dressed  people  driving  in  the  finest  carriages  on  the 
swellest  streets,  are  Parsees.  The  best  educated  chil- 
dren, and  the  most  of  them,  are  Parsees.  The  only 
pretty  girls  in  Bombay  (except  those  who  have  just 
disembarked  from  the  Cleveland)  are  Parsees.  And 
so  it  goes  throughout  all  the  uppermost  strata  and 
innermost  circles  of  Bombay — excepting  always  such 
institutions  as  the  Yacht  Club,  for  there  is  no  caste 
so  rigid  as  the  caste  of  the  English-born.  One  of  the 
places  where  you  may  search  in  vain  for  a  Parsee 
is  the  calaboose;  another  is  the  haunt  of  the  street- 
beggar.  Now  it  was  the  Parsee,  remember,  and  not 
the  Briton,  who  was  nice  to  us  in  Bombay.  It  was 
some  member  of  this  strange  people  who  invited  you 
to  that  little  family  function.  It  was  a  wealthy  Parsee 
who  reserved  fifty  seats  at  a  Parsee  entertainment. 
And  that  Parsee  wedding  didn't  just  happen  so;  it  was 
held  back  because  they  knew  that  people  on  the  ship 
wanted  to  see  it.  And  may  I  say  in  passing,  for  the 
benefit  of  those  who  have  never  seen  an  assembly  of 


BOMBAY,  PARSEE,  AND  KIPLING       101 

Parsee  women,  that  they  are  beautiful  enough  to  make 
even  a  blind  man  forget  his  home? 

To  these  followers  of  Zoroaster,  fire,  water,  and 
earth  are  sacred  elements  and  must  not  be  polluted 
by  decomposition.  Their  dead,  therefore,  may  not  be 
buried,  cremated,  or  thrown  into  the  sea.  Hence  the 
strange  custom  of  laying  the  bodies  on  a  slab  in  an 
enclosed  tower  and  allowing  them  to  be  devoured  by 
vultures.  The  custom  has  at  least  one  thing  to  com- 
mend it — the  impossibility  of  infection  from  con- 
tagious diseases. 

The  ritual  for  the  disposal  of  the  dead  is  too  lengthy 
to  be  given  in  detail.  There  is  a  ceremony  analogous 
to  that  of  Extreme  Unction,  followed  by  a  ritual  that 
is  as  painstaking  as  that  of  the  sterilization  of  a  sur- 
geon's instruments  before  an  operation.  The  funeral 
is  always  a  walking  funeral;  the  body  must  be  carried 
exposed  to  the  sun,  by  a  multiple  of  two,  and  the 
followers  must  walk  in  pairs,  with  a  white  cloth 
connecting  each  pair.  Upon  arrival  at  the  Towers 
of  Silence,  the  family  takes  leave  of  the  deceased  and 
two  bearded  men  bear  it  through  the  gate  of  one  of 
the  towers.  Without  touching  the  body  with  their 
hands,  they  remove  the  covering  and  leave  the  body 
exposed  to  the  view  of  the  vultures.  Eventually  the 
dry  bones  are  deposited  in  a  central  well,  where  they 
are  gradually  resolved  into  their  original  elements. 
The  utmost  sanitary  precautions  are  taken  throughout. 

Meanwhile,  prayers  for  the  dead  are  kept  up  for 
three  days,  the  time  during  which  the  soul  is  supposed 
to  remain  within  the  precincts  of  this  world.  Gifts 


102 


TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 


to  charity  in  the  name  of  the  deceased  are  also  made, 
and  many  other  peculiar  but  commendable  customs 
followed.  But  the  temptation  to  dwell  on  the  Parsees 
must  be  resisted. 

Some  idea  of  the  part  they  are  playing  in  the  best 
life  of  Bombay  may  be  gathered  from  the  following 
(partial)  list  of  benefactions : 


Institution 

Benefactor 

Amount 

Jamsetjee  Jeejeebhoy  Institute 
University  Hall 
Elphinstone  College 

Sir  J.  Jeejeebhoy 
Sir  C.  J.  Readymoney 
Sir  C.  J.  Readymoney 
Maneckjee  Cursetjee 

$400,000 

33,000 
66,000 

Mechanics  Institute 
Elphinstone  High  School 
School  of  Art 
Clock  Tower 
St.  Thomas  Fountain 
St.  John's  Church 
King  Edward  Statue 
Prince  Albert  Statue 
King  George  Statue  (future) 
Museum  Clock  Tower 
Crawford  Market  Fountain 
Bomanji  Dinshaw  Petit  Hospital 

David  and  Sir  A.  Sassoon 
Sir  Albert  Sassoon 
Sir  Jamsetjee  Jeejeebhoy 
Premchand  Raichand 
Sir  C.  J.  Readymoney 
Cowasjee  Jehangir 
Sir  Albert  Sassoon 
Sir  Albert  Sassoon 
Sir  J.  D.  Sassoon 
Sir  Albert  Sassoon 
Sir  C.  J.  Readymoney 

75.000 
50,000 
33,000 
100,000 
23,000 

y*  of  cost 
60,000 

Gokaldas  Jejpal  Hospital 
Pestonji  Kama  Hospital 
Allbless  Obstetric  Hospital 
Jamsetjee  Jeejeebhoy  Hospital 

G.  Jejpal  &  R.  J.  Jeejeebhoy 
Pestonjee  H.  Cama 
Bomanjee  E.  Allbless 
Sir  J.  Jeejeebhoy 

150,000 

55.000 
%  of  cost 

Veterinary  College 
Almshouse  for  Parsees 

Sir  Dinshaw  M.  Petit 
Sons  of  Fardonjee  S.  Parak 

site 

Towers  of  Silence 

Sir  J.  Jeejeebhoy 

road  and 
land 

And  it  is  authoritatively  stated  that  within  one  period  of  five 
years  (1884-89)  the  Parsees  expended  in  public  charities  the 
sum  of  $4,000,000.  The  corresponding  figures  for  the  British 
community  are  not  available. 

On  my  first  visit  to  Bombay,  having  duly  seen  all 
that  is  written  in  the  Book  of  the  Stranger,  and  some 
things  that  are  not,  I  approached  the  manager  of  the 


BOMBAY,  PARSEE,  AND  KIPLING       103 

Taj  Mahal  Palace  and  asked  to  be  directed  to  Mr. 
Kipling's  birthplace. 

But  so  far  as  he  and  the  other  educated  Orientals 
in  the  hotel  were  concerned,  I  might  as  well  have  en- 
quired for  the  Islands  of  the  Blest.  It  was  from  a 
genial  gentleman  connected  with  the  Standard  Oil 
Company  that  I  finally  got  the  clue.  He  happened  to 
have  been  investigating  the  subject  and  had  learned 
that  it  was  an  humble  cottage  near  the  Marine  Lines 
station. 

In  half  an  hour  I  was  at  the  Marine  Lines,  but  I 
saw  more  than  one  modest  building  opposite.  So  I 
went  to  the  Babu  in  charge  of  the  ticket-office. 

"  Can  you  tell  me  in  which  of  these  houses  Mr. 
Kipling  was  born  ?  "  I  asked. 

He  tried  to  repeat  the  name,  but  floundered.  Know- 
ing something  of  the  mental  processes  of  the  East,  I 
explained  that  Mr.  Kipling  was  an  English  sahib  who 
had  written  books — books  about  India. 

The  request  and  the  explanation  were  passed  along 
in  Hindustanee  to  an  older  and,  if  possible,  graver 
Babu,  by  whom  they  were  duly  and  reflectively  con- 
sidered. The  response  came  in  relays  by  the  same 
circuitous  route :  "  We  not  knowing  where  the  gentle- 
man lives ! " 

"  Oh,  I  know  where  he  lives.  But  in  which  of  these 
houses  was  he  born  ?  "  All  traces  of  intelligence  van- 
ished from  both  faces. 

I  tried  all  sorts  of  English-speaking  people  as  they 
came  along  the  road,  but  not  one  could  free  me  from 
the  Wheel  of  Things.  Finally  the  sympathetic  cab- 


104          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

driver  piloted  me  to  a  milk-supply  depot  across  the 
street.  Here  I  found  a  group  of  upper-class  Hindus 
and  Parsees,  all  anxious  to  be  obliging.  To  them  I 
put  the  momentous  question. 

They  looked  at  me  in  silence,  as  though  I  spake 
in  an  unknown  tongue.  Once  again  I  explained,  in 
the  simplest  of  language,  that  a  man  named  Kipling, 
an  English  sahib,  a  poet  and  writer  of  books,  especially 
of  books  about  India,  who  was  now  living  in  Eng- 
land, had  been  born  in  one  of  the  houses  near  their 
office — and  would  they  kindly  point  it  out  to  me? 

They  resolved  themselves  into  a  Committee  of  the 
Whole  and  discussed  the  matter  in  all  its  bearings. 
Then  one  of  them,  acting  as  spokesman,  announced 
the  result  with  the  deliberation  of  a  foreman  reading 
the  verdict  of  a  jury  in  a  murder  case: 

"  That  is  not  in  our  line ! " 

In  silence,  I  allowed  my  driver  to  lead  me  to  the 
club-house  of  a  native  gymkhana  nearby.  Here  were 
a  group  of  fine-looking  Eurasians — men  with  the  edu- 
cation, dress,  and  manners  of  sahibs.  Here,  at  last, 
were  men  to  whom  the  word  Kipling  might  be  ad- 
dressed without  the  long  explanation. 

"  Mr.  Kipling  was  not  born  in  Bombay,"  instantly 
spoke  up  one.  "  He  is  from  Lahore." 

"  But  I  am  told  that  he  was  born  in  one  of  the 
houses  over  there." 

"  Oh,  no.  Mr.  Kipling  never  lived  in  Bombay  at 
all.  He  was  born  at  Lahore  and  resided  there."  And 
the  echo  of  the  others  was  "  Lahore." 

I  was  calm,  as  becomes  a  man  when  he  is  convers- 


BOMBAY,  PARSEE,  AND  KIPLING       105 

ing  with  the  East.  "  All  I  know  about  it,"  I  replied, 
"  is  that  Mr.  Kipling  says  that  he  was  born  here.  He 
has  dedicated  '  the  Seven  Seas  '  to  Bombay  and  says : 

'  Mother  of  Cities  to  me, 

For  I  was  born  in  her  gate, 
Between  the  palms  and  the  sea, 
Where  the  world-end  steamers  wait."  " 

This  was  a  knock-out,  for  there  were  the  palms  on 
the  one  hand,  and  on  the  other  the  smoke  of  the 
steamers. 

"  It  may  be  that  he  was  born  here  while  his  people 
were  en  route  to  England,"  suggested  one,  after  they 
had  puzzled  over  the  matter. 

Much  chastened  in  spirit,  I  drove  away,  content 
that  I  had  discovered,  in  the  city  of  Kipling's  birth, 
one  group  of  men  who  had  heard  the  name  before — 
and  that  loomed  up  before  me  as  a  real  discovery. 

On  my  second  visit  to  Bombay,  I  sought  my  Stand- 
ard Oil  friend,  who  had  been  requested  to  go  deeper 
into  the  search.  He  had  the  information.  The  house 
was  on  a  side  street  that  turns  off  near  the  Marine 
Lines,  at  the  Goanese  Church.  His  description  was 
so  minute  that  I  picked  out  the  house  from  the  head 
of  the  street.  There  remained  nothing  but  to  look, 
photograph,  and  go  in  peace. 

Then  I  decided  that  it  would  be  appropriate  to  make 
a  pilgrimage  to  the  Art  School  where  the  elder  Kip- 
ling had  taught,  and  also  to  see  the  friezes  on  the 
Crawford  Market  and  the  Victoria  Terminus  that 
had  come  from  the  sculptor's  hands. 


106          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

At  the  School  of  Art  I  was  fortunate  to  find  Mr. 
Cecil  Burns,  the  Principal,  who  obligingly  showed  me 
the  plant. 

"  By  the  way,"  I  said  at  the  door  of  his  bungalow, 
"  can  you  tell  me  exactly  where  Mr.  Rudyard  Kip- 
ling was  born?  " 

"  Not  the  house,  for  it  has  been  torn  down,"  he 
replied.  "  But  I  can  show  you  where  it  stood." 

He  led  me  about  fifty  yards  distant  and  pointed 
it  out — near  a  one-story  workshop  which  dates  from 
the  Kipling  regime. 

"  This  is  it,"  he  said. 

I  kept  my  own  counsel  and  photographed  this  spot 
also.  Then  he  gave  me  the  School  catalogue,  and 
therein  I  found  this  sentence: 

"While  Mr.  Lockwood  Kipling  held  the  post  of  Modelling 
Professor  in  Bombay,  his  son,  Rudyard  Kipling,  the  well-known 
writer,  was  born  in  a  small  house  in  the  compound  in  which  the 
School  now  stands." 

Surely  this  India  is  a  strange  land — a  land  of  "  the 
Twice-Born ! "  On  the  same  day  you  may  make 
photographs  of  two  birthplaces  of  the  same  man  in 
the  same  city ! 


VULTURES  AT  THE  TOWERS  OF  SILENCE 


AUTHENTIC  BIRTHPLACE  OF  MR.  KIPLING 


XII 
ACROSS  INDIA  WITH  «  KIM  " 

OPHELIA  says — not  Shakespeare's  but  that  car- 
toon kid  with  the  slate — that  getting  the  worst 
of  it  ain't  no  worse  than  missing  the  best 
of  it.  If  so,  then  you  got  the  worst  of  it — you  who 
missed  the  best  part  of  the  world-cruise,  the  overland 
trip  across  India.  You  are  sorry  now,  but  I  want 
to  massage  it  in. 

To  cross  in  the  regular  way  (providing  your  own 
bed-clothes,  chaperoning  your  own  luggage,  enduring 
the  affliction  of  a  man-servant  who  has  pellagra, 
hookworm,  and  sleeping-sickness,  and  haggling  in  the 
hot  sun  with  guides  and  cab-drivers)  is  enough  to 
make  even  the  robust  hesitate.  But  we  did  it  differ- 
ently. Note  how  simple: 

I  tie  to  each  of  my  hand-bags  a  label  (which  some- 
body has  already  addressed)  and  place  it  outside  my 
stateroom.  The  luggage  vanishes.  I  go  jauntily  down 
the  gang-plank,  step  into  a  tender,  and  land  at  the 
dock.  There  I  step  into  a  carriage,  and  get  out  at 
the  hotel.  A  slave  in  a  turban  looks  at  the  number 
on  my  card  and  escorts  me  to  my  room — and  hither 
comes  my  luggage,  without  calling. 

On  the  morning  of  departure  I  place  my  baggage 
107 


108          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

outside  the  door  and  forget  it.  A  carriage  takes  me 
to  the  train.  I  walk  down  the  line  of  Durbar  coaches 
until  I  come  to  the  one  that  has  my  compartment 
number  on  the  outside.  Here  I  find  my  hand-bags. 
Also  a  neat  bundle  (from  the  ship)  of  bedding,  towels, 
and  soap,  with  my  name  on  it.  While  I  am  at  dinner 
that  evening  in  the  station  restaurant  or  the  dining-car, 
an  unseen  slave  makes  my  bed.  I  turn  on  the  electric 
fan  and  fall  in. 

And  so  I  cross  India  without  bemoaning  the  stren- 
uosity  of  life  in  the  tropics.  The  other  three  tenants 
of  my  compartment  being  men,  I  ride  luxuriously  in 
pajamas.  Nobody  can  enter  the  compartment  for 
hours,  until  the  train  stops  again.  Besides,  nobody 
aboard  has  on  clothes  enough  to  go  visiting  anyway. 
When  we  get  tired  of  looking,  we  curl  up  and  snooze; 
and  when  we  weary  of  snoozing,  we  jump  into  our 
private  tub  and  turn  on  the  water. 

And  if  something  goes  wrong  with  the  train  or 
the  luggage  or  the  food  or  the  carriages,  we  don't 
worry — we  let  Lody  do  it.  And  in  nine  cases  out  of 
ten  Lody  does  it  swiftly.  But  what  has  all  this  to 
do  with  Kipling's  "  Kim  "  ? 

If  it  be  permitted,  let  me  first  recount  my  achieve- 
ments, after  the  manner  of  Hurree  Chunder  Mooker- 
jee,  "  M.A.  of  Calcutta  University,"  otherwise  known 
to  the  players  of  the  Great  Game  as  "  R.  17." 

Twice  have  I  roamed  over  the  empire  where  Kim 
and  his  Holy  One  wandered  in  quest  of  the  River 
that  "  washes  away  all  taint  and  speckle  of  sin."  I 


ACROSS  INDIA  WITH  "  KIM  "  109 

have  seen  the  "  te-rain  "  to  Umballa,  the  Grand  Trunk 
Road,  the  Gates  of  Learning,  the  Temple  of  the 
Tirthankers,  "  the  long  peaceful  line  of  the  Himalayas 
flushed  in  morning  gold,"  and  "  that  wonderful  up- 
land road  that  leads  at  last  into  Great  China  itself." 

I  have  made  graven  images  of  Little  Friend  of  All 
the  World,  of  Mahbub  Ali  the  horse-trader,  of  Hurree 
Chunder  the  Babu,  of  Chota  Lai  and  Abdullah  the 
sweetmeat-seller's  son,  of  the  Amritzar  woman  with 
a  heart  of  gold,  of  the  Dispenser  of  Delights,  of  the 
Woman  of  Shamlegh  in  her  turquoise-studded  head- 
gear, and  of  "  those  coming  up  from  the  river  of  life 
with  full  water-jars." 

I  have  heard  the  creaking  well-windlasses  in  the 
yellow  afterglow,  "  the  gurgling,  grunting  hookahs 
in  the  still,  sticky  dark,"  and  the  boom  of  the  Thibetan 
devil-gong.  The  "  ash-smeared  fakirs  by  their  brick 
shrines  under  the  trees,"  the  yellow-trousered  Pun- 
jabi policemen  on  the  Delhi  platform,  the  bhistie  sluic- 
ing the  dusty  road  with  his  waterskin,  the  mouse- 
coloured  Brahminee  bull,  the  letter-writer  squatting 
in  the  shade,  the  patient  coolie  pulling  at  the  punkah, 
the  jiggetting  ekka  and  the  gaily  ornamented  ruth  of 
"  a  virtuous  and  high-born  widow  of  a  hill-rajah  on 
pilgrimage"  — all  these  have  I  seen  many  times. 

And,  after  a  search  that  for  a  time  seemed  as 
hopeless  as  the  lama's  search  for  the  River  of  the 
Arrow,  I  have  made  pilgrimage  to  the  spot  where  the 
author  of  "  Kim  "  was  born. 

Suffer  me,  therefore,  to  acquire  merit! 

I  was  mildly  enthusiastic  about  "  Kim  "  before  ever 


110         TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

I  went  to  India  and  had  placed  him  in  my  private 
calendar  of  saints,  alongside  Barrie's  "  Sentimental 
Tommy,"  canonized  a  dozen  years  before.  But 
"  Kim "  was  to  me  then  merely  the  rattling  good 
story  of  an  Irish  soldier's  outcast,  who  one  day  lords 
it  as  the  son  of  a  sahib  and  on  the  next  day  eats  out 
of  the  same  dish  with  the  fakirs  of  the  Taksali  Gate. 

That  was  yesterday.  To-day  "  Kim  "  is  to  me  the 
best  guide-book  that  the  traveller  may  take  to  India. 
No  other  book  that  I  know  of  so  clearly  unfolds  that 
wonderful  land  and  its  mysterious  customs.  The 
life  of  India  that  is  set  forth  in  "  Kim  "  is  the  life 
that  the  traveller  sees  everywhere  in  the  Empire, 
"  every  detail  lighted  from  behind  like  twigs  on  tree- 
tops  seen  against  lightning." 

As  now,  with  closed  eyes,  memory  goes  racing  back 
over  the  highways  of  British  India — north  to  the 
Punjab,  east  to  the  lowlands  of  Bengal,  north  again 
to  the  Himalayan  snows,  and  southeast  to  the  old 
Rangoon  pagoda — one  vision  stands  out  sharp  and 
clear  against  a  confused  background  of  palaces, 
mosques,  and  hovels.  It  is  the  vision  of  Indian  boy- 
hood— that  pathetic  silhouette  that  unconsciously 
stands  in  picturesque  pose  against  every  Indian  sky- 
line. 

It  was  not  astride  the  green-bronze  cannon  across 
from  the  Wonder  House  at  Lahore,  but  lounging 
lazily  against  a  pile  of  rubbish  on  the  Ganges,  that  I 
first  saw  Kim  in  the  flesh.  He  was  a  picture  that  would 
have  delighted  the  soul  of  an  artist.  Half-sitting, 
half -stand  ing  there  against  the  stone  and  mortar  of  a 


"  LITTLE  FRIEND  OF  ALL  THE  WORLD 


KIM  AND  A  FAQUIR  OF  THE  TAKSALI  GATE 


ACROSS  INDIA  WITH  "  KIM  "  111 

ruined  temple,  something  out  on  the  sacred  river  had 
caught  his  eye  and  made  him  oblivious  to  everything 
else.  Over  his  head  was  stretched  a  queer  little  cap 
made  from  a  piece  of  cloth;  this  and  one  solitary  rag 
of  clothing  shone  out  white  in  the  Benares  sun.  Other- 
wise, boy  and  background  were  of  one  colour. 
Hugged  to  his  breast  was  a  crude  stringed  instrument, 
and  beside  him  was  the  water- jar  that  had  probably 
brought  him  to  the  river. 

As  he  turned  his  face  and  caught  sight  of  the 
sahib  and  his  kodak,  his  lithe  body  braced  itself  for 
a  bound,  like  that  of  a  startled  deer.  Then  a  half- 
mischievous  smile  parted  his  lips  and  he  held  out  his 
hand  instinctively  in  that  sign  of  distress  that  is  a 
badge  of  Indian  brotherhood.  It  was  unmistakably 
Kim — Kim  as  he  must  have  looked  as  he  stood  before 
the  Amritzar  girl  and  implored  the  Breaker  of  Hearts 
for  "  a  little  ticket  to  Umballa."  Of  all  the  boys  of 
India,  the  little  chap  there  below  the  Nepalese  Temple 
remains  the  most  fascinating  in  memory. 

Within  a  week  I  saw  him  again.  This  time  it  was 
on  the  banks  of  the  Hooghly  and  he  was  perhaps  about 
a  year  older — about  the  age  of  Kim  when  he  besought 
Mahbub  to  "  let  the  hand  of  friendship  turn  aside  the 
whip  of  calamity."  Sitting  on  a  step  like  a  sahib 
instead  of  upon  the  ground,  he  held  a  bag  of  sweet- 
meats in  one  hand  and  clutched  a  cigarette  in  the 
other.  Had  his  hair  and  features  not  been  unmis- 
takably Aryan,  his  deep  colour  would  have  made  him 
an  Ethiopian,  but  the  eyes  were  grey-blue.  The  pose 
recalled  to  me  the  scene  with  the  letter-writer,  where 


TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

Kim  ends  his  dictation  of  a  letter  to  Mahbub  with  this 
fine  touch  of  Irish  humour :  "  Send  me  some  money, 
for  I  have  not  sufficient  to  pay  the  writer  who  writes 
this!" 

Kim  was  even  now  in  the  company  of  one  of  the 
fakirs.  A  few  feet  from  him,  squat  on  a  piece  of 
carpet,  was  one  of  the  most  picturesque  holy  bodies 
that  I  saw  outside  of  Benares.  He  was  not  ash- 
smeared  like  the  others,  and  his  skin  was  almost  ebony. 
The  blackness  of  his  face  was  enhanced  by  the  jet- 
black  hair  encircling  it  and  falling  on  his  shoulders, 
while  his  caste-mark  stood  out  like  a  semaphore  signal 
set  at  "  full  stop."  But  it  was  not  sufficiently  divert- 
ing to  prevent  the  most  casual  observer  from  seeing 
that  an  i8-carat  rogue  was  behind  the  caste-mark. 

It  was  in  the  city  of  the  Taj  Mahal  that  I  ran  into 
old  Mahbub  Ali,  the  horse-trader  who  pursued  the 
Flower  of  Delight  with  the  feet  of  intoxication. 
Mahbub  was  even  then  rolling  across  the  serai  toward 
the  Gate  of  the  Harpies,  but  there  was  a  quizzical 
twinkle  in  his  eye  that  seemed  to  say :  "  The  pedigree 
of  the  white  stallion  is  fully  established ! "  I  recog- 
nized old  Mahbub  a  block  away,  for  a  burly  brown 
man  coming  down  a  sunlit  street  and  waving  a  beard 
that  has  been  dyed  to  a  shade  between  scarlet  and 
orange  is  no  inconspicuous  personage. 

Hurree  Chunder  was  not  so  easily  located.  There 
were  Babus  everywhere,  of  course,  and  plenty  of 
them  with  college  degrees,  for  India  has  five  great 
universities.  The  term  "  Babu "  originally  meant 
Mr.  or  Esq.,  but  in  the  usage  of  to-day  it  is  applied 


ACROSS  INDIA  WITH  "  KIM  "  113 

to  any  native  clerk  who  writes  English.  It  was  also 
no  difficult  task  to  encounter  a  Babu  whose  bombastic 
language  and  self-complacency  were  like  unto  Hurree 
Chunder's.  Nor  was  it  rare  to  find  one  so  obese  that 
he  waddled  like  a  water-logged  derelict  in  a  rough 
sea.  Moreover,  the  big  umbrella,  the  patent-leather 
shoes,  and  the  openwork  stockings  were  as  thick  as 
leaves  on  an  autumnal  day — but  none  of  them  be- 
longed to  R.  17. 

It  was  nigh  unto  the  Golden  Pagoda  at  Rangoon 
that  I  at  length  found  him.  He  was  now  in  the 
guise  of  "  a  most  sober  Bengali  from  Dacca,  a  master 
of  medicine,"  sitting  behind  bottles  and  testimonials 
"  telling  what  things  he  has  done  for  weak-backed 
men  and  slack  women,"  and  those  lamentable  colics 
that  overtook  the  grandchild  of  the  sharp-tongued 
old  lady  of  Saharunpore. 

It  was  too  much  to  hope  that  chance  would  bring 
across  my  path  the  wandering  feet  of  the  old  lama 
of  Suchzen,  "  still  burning  with  his  inextinguishable 
hope."  Thibetan  lamas  are  Buddhists,  and  Buddhism 
is  dead  in  India  proper.  I  saw  a  Buddhist  priest 
reverently  making  his  devotions  at  the  great  tower  of 
Sarnath,  near  the  Temple  of  the  Tirthankers,  but 
he  was  a  Japanese  on  a  pilgrimage  to  the  Five  Holy 
Places,  of  which  Sarnath  is  one.  None  of  the  red 
lamas  around  Darjeeling  seemed  to  fit  the  part. 

When  the  old  lama  had  made  the  surprising  dis- 
covery that  his  beloved  chela  was  the  son  of  a  sahib, 
you  remember,  and  had  secretly  resolved  to  bear  the 
cost  of  "  one  expensive  education,"  he  was  told  by 


114          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

the  priest  that  "  the  best  education  a  boy  can  get 
in  India  is,  of  course,  at  St.  Xavier's  in  Partibus  at 
Lucknow." 

While  waiting  in  the  Lucknow  station  for  break- 
fast, therefore,  I  went  to  the  English-speaking  native 
at  the  news-stand  and  asked  for  the  location  of  St. 
Xavier's.  His  face  looked  troubled,  so  I  added :  "  St. 
Xavier's — a  school  for  sahibs  and  hali-sahibs." 

He  was  not  sure  about  it.  He  called  two  other 
Hindus  and  they  talked  it  over.  They  said  it  was  far 
up-town. 

Then  I  asked  the  manager  of  the  restaurant.  He 
repeated  the  name  doubtfully. 

"Oh,  never  mind!"  I  said.  "The  driver  of  the 
ticca-gharry  will  know.  A  cab-driver  is  sure  to  know 
the  best  boys'  school  in  India." 

After  the  regular  programme  was  finished  at  the 
Palace  of  Lights,  my  watch  said  that  I  had  three 
hours  in  which  to  see  St.  Xavier's,  lunch,  and  board 
the  train.  I  therefore  stepped  lightly  into  the  gharry 
and  said: 

"St.  Xavier's." 

Nothing  happened.  The  driver  sat  placidly  and 
awaited  orders. 

"  St.  Xavier's ! "  I  repeated,  sharply. 

The  Mohammedan  gentleman  who  held  the  reins 
gave  me  the  mystic  sign  that  denotes  an  intellect 
hopelessly  bewildered. 

"You  not  knowing  St.  Xavier's?"  I  said.  "St. 
Xavier's — big  madrissah — madrissah  for  sahibs!  " 

Ah !  the  mystery  clears.    Away  we  go  up  the  white 


ACROSS  INDIA  WITH  "  KIM  "  115 

and  dusty  road  along  the  bank  of  the  Gumti.  At 
last  he  pulls  in  his  horse  and  points  across  the  half- 
dried  river  to  a  cluster  of  buildings  in  the  trees. 

"St.  Xavier's?"  I  ask. 

"  Yes,  Sahib.     Canning  College.     Very  fine !  " 

"  Canning  College  no  want,"  I  reply.  "  Canning 
College  new  school." 

"  Yes,  Sahib.     New  school.     Very  fine !  " 

In  words  of  one  syllable,  slowly  but  with  much 
emphasis,  I  make  it  clear  that  I  seek  St.  Xavier's — a 
madrissah  for  the  sons  of  sahibs,  a  Catholic  madrissah. 

We  drive  merrily  for  half  an  hour  in  another  direc- 
tion and  stop  in  front  of  another  college.  I  look 
at  the  sign  and  see  "  Reed  Christian  College  " — and 
long  for  the  native  tongue  that  I  may  speak  to  the 
driver  in  the  "  blistering,  biting  appropriateness  "  of 
the  old  lady  of  Saharunpore. 

We  go  on,  but  more  slowly  now.  At  another  large 
building  I  get  out  and  walk  across  a  bare  campus 
to  a  large  tablet.  Here  I  read  the  name  of  the  Bishop 
who  laid  the  corner-stone  of  another  mission  school. 
It  is  impossible  for  this  to  be  St.  Xavier's. 

A  schoolboy  comes  across  the  square  and  I  inter- 
cept him.  I  explain  the  whole  story  in  the  simplest 
English  and  tip  him  to  tell  it  to  my  driver  in  any 
or  all  of  the  147  vernaculars  of  India.  Then  we 
start  off  again. 

Ah!  the  trail  is  getting  warm.  Against  the  sky  is 
a  large  crucifix — a  Roman  Catholic  Church.  St. 
Xavier's  was  a  Catholic  college.  And  there,  just  be- 
yond, is  a  group  of  school  buildings.  It  is  "  a  block 


116          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

of  low  white  buildings,"  and  must  be  the  Gates  of 
Learning. 

But  not  so.  The  sign  says  "  St.  Francis'  School." 
There  stood  the  boys,  however — sahibs  and  half- 
sahibs.  To  one  of  them  I  propound  the  riddle. 

No,  he  knew  of  no  school  in  Lucknow  of  that  name. 
And  if  there  were  another  Catholic  school  of  that 
size,  he  was  sure  that  he  would  have  heard  about  it. 

I  had  reached  the  end  of  a  blind  trail  and  been 
pocketed.  Since  special  trains  do  not  wait  for  isolated 
travellers  who  are  off  on  "  independent  action,"  I 
hurried  away  to  the  station  without  opportunity  for 
further  investigation. 

It  has  since  dawned  upon  me  that  perhaps  Mr. 
Kipling  intentionally  "  muddied  the  wells  of  en- 
quiry "  to  prevent  any  school  from  using  his  remark 
as  publicity.  He  may  have  made  a  composite  school 
out  of  the  fine  old  La  Martiniere  and  the  school  of 
St.  Francis,  for  instance.  But,  at  any  rate,  I  have  seen 
all  the  big  schools  of  Lucknow — and  therefore  seen 
the  Gates  of  Learning! 

About  the  Temple  of  the  Tirthankers  there  is  no 
such  uncertainty.  Before  starting  out  to  Sarnath,  I 
drew  near  to  a  group  of  guides  at  the  hotel.  They 
represented  the  best  that  is  to  be  had  in  the  line  of 
intelligence  and  knowledge  of  English.  I  asked  just 
where,  on  the  road  to  Sarnath,  I  should  pass  the 
Temple  of  the  Tirthankers. 

Each  insisted  that  there  was  no  such  place.  Had 
I  been  asking  for  such  a  temple  in  Benares,  this  reply 
would  not  have  been  surprising — but  the  Tirthankers 


ACROSS  INDIA  WITH  "  KIM  "  117 

is  the  only  temple  anywhere  near  Sarnath.  Finally 
one  of  the  guides,  with  an  eye  on  the  future,  asked 
what  there  was  about  it  to  interest  a  traveller.  I 
told  him  the  story  of  Kim  and  the  lama  who  had 
made  the  temple  his  headquarters  for  three  years. 

"  Spell  the  name  for  me,"  he  suggested. 

I  did  so.  His  face  beamed.  Ah!  I  had  not  pro- 
nounced it  correctly.  No  wonder  he  had  not  known 
it.  Then  I  asked  that  he  set  my  wayward  pronuncia- 
tion back  into  the  right  path. 

"  Temple  of  the  TYrthankers,"  he  explained,  with 
a  slight  accent  on  the  first  syllable.  He  knew  it  well. 

All  right.  Where  is  it?  He  guessed,  and  missed 
it  utterly.  He  was  lying  just  like — just  like  a  guide. 

Also,  it  must  be  confessed,  Mr.  Kipling  himself  has 
missed  it  three  miles,  for  he  locates  Sarnath  "  about 
a  mile  outside  the  city."  He  also  says  that  the  clamour 
of  Benares  "  beat  round  the  walls  as  the  roar  of  a 
sea  round  a  breakwater."  But  any  one  may  verify 
the  fact  that  Sarnath  is  about  four  miles  distant,  and 
it  is  one  of  the  loneliest  and  quietest  places  in  Bengal. 

But  Mr.  Kipling,  so  far  as  I  can  ascertain,  was 
never  in  Benares,  which  explains  the  slip.  If  he  had 
ever  ridden  over  those  four  hot  and  dusty  miles,  he 
would  not  have  made  that  Jullunder  farmer  carry  a 
sick  son  in  his  arms  all  the  way  to  the  Tirthankers' 
door!  Also,  he  would  have  told  of  the  lama's  en- 
thusiasm over  the  Wonder  House  at  Sarnath,  for  it 
is  full  of  Buddhist  sculpture  that  would  have  delighted 
the  old  man's  soul — for  this  is  where  Buddhism  had 
its  beginning. 


118          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

I  regret  that  I  cannot  record  a  meeting  with  the 
Mavericks — "  nine  hundred  first-class  devils,  whose 
god  was  a  red  bull  on  a  green  field."  I  found  first- 
class  devils  a-plenty,  but  they  were  not  Irish.  Beneath 
the  stars  of  Bombay  and  Calcutta,  Private  Atkins  gen- 
erally conversed  with  a  Welsh  or  a  Yorkshire  accent. 
At  the  Delhi  encampment,  he  was  usually  in  the  kilties 
of  the  Black  Watch  or  the  Seaforth  Highlanders.  At 
Cawnpore,  he  was  a  majestic  Gordon  Highlander. 
Somewhere  else  he  was  of  the  King's  Own  Scottish 
Borders.  I  have  only  a  faint  recollection  of  having 
once  heard  the  Irish  brogue  coming  out  of  the  dark 
like  the  roll  of  a  snare-drum. 


Zum  durstigen 
Elephanten 


IN 

THE 


CITY      OF     THE 
TAJ 


XIII 
AFTERGLOW  OF  MOGHUL  SPLENDOUR 

NOW  let  us  have  no  hard  feelings  about  it, 
Eunice.  I  am  willing  to  endorse  every  ex- 
quisite sentence  in  the  literature  of  the  Taj 
Mahal,  but  I  firmly  decline  to  have  hysterical  fits  over 
the  story  that  goes  with  it.  'Cause  why?  Let's  take 
the  works  out  of  it  and  look  at  them. 

In  the  first  place,  we  are  all  agreed  that  it  took 
more  than  twenty  years  to  build  it,  but  we  do  not 
know  whether  it  cost  18,465,186  rupees  or  31,748,026 
— the  reason  being  that  we  cannot  find  the  receipted 
bill  in  Shah  Jahan's  letter-file.  Now  you  know  what 
we  say  in  our  country  about  a  man  who  won't  settle 
his  wife's  funeral  expenses. 

You  have  stood  there  with  moistened  eyes,  in  the 
cupola  of  the  marble  palace  where  he  died,  looking 
out  upon  Mumtaz's  tomb,  and  have  mourned  the  sad 
fate  of  a  proud  old  man  dethroned  and  imprisoned 
by  his  own  son — and  the  son  of  the  Lady  of  the  Taj, 
at  that.  And  you  also  have  some  very  romantic 
ideas  about  his  deathless  devotion  to  his  queen  and 
recalled  that  poem  over  which  you  used  to  weep — 
something  about  "  he  never  smiled  again." 

I  hate  to  spoil  the  story,  Eunice,  but  do  you  know 
119 


120          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

how  Jahan  got  his  start  in  life?  By  murdering  his 
brother  and  every  other  relative  who  could  possibly 
claim  the  throne  of  Akbar.  Then  he  undertook  to 
lift  the  old  man  out  of  the  throne,  but  Jahangir  beat 
him  in  the  primaries  and  Jahan  had  to  move  into 
another  precinct.  And  he  was  just  organizing  another 
campaign  when  death  came  along  and  made  him  the 
heir  to  the  Moghul  throne,  thanks  to  his  foresighted- 
ness  in  the  matter  of  the  other  candidates.  That  which 
happened  to  him  in  his  old  age,  therefore,  was  more 
merciful  than  he  had  any  just  right  to  expect. 

He  thought  a  lot  of  Mumtaz,  no  doubt  about  that; 
but  you  are  very  wrong  in  thinking  that  she  was  the 
only  pebble  on  the  Jumna  beach.  As  a  matter  of  his- 
tory, he  had  so  many  wives  that  he  couldn't  keep 
track  of  them  without  a  card  catalogue,  but  it  may 
not  be  true  that  each  had  her  first  name  engraved  on 
her  belt-buckle  so  that  he  might  know  what  to  call  her. 

Don't  you  remember  all  those  ladies'  apartments 
there  in  the  Palace?  Surely  you  did  not  think  that 
Jahan  took  in  boarders!  The  ladies  who  filled  those 
halls  with  joyful  song  when  they  were  sure  that  the 
Shah  was  not  trying  to  get  a  nap  were  all  on  his  per- 
sonal staff.  No  other  man  dared  so  much  as  whistle 
to  one  of  them  or  wave  his  handkerchief  from  the 
other  side  of  the  river. 

And  those  deep  pockets  in  the  marble  walls  of  the 
Golden  Pavilions — did  you  understand  that  this  was 
where  Mumtaz  kept  her  jewels  while  she  was  washing 
the  supper  dishes?  Mumtaz  needed  only  one  pocket 


for  that,  but  here  they  were,  all  around  the  big  rooms. 
Whose  jewels  do  you  suppose  went  into  them?  And 
where  did  they  get  the  jewels? 

And  that  royal  bathroom,  furnished  with  all  modern 
improvements,  including  dome  and  side-walls  plastered 
with  mirror  tiling — did  you  think  that  Jahan  built  that 
for  Mumtaz  to  scrub  the  children  in?  She  was  never 
under  any  such  illusion. 

And  when  you  were  looking  down  into  the  Machchi 
Bhawan,  where  the  Emperor  used  to  sit  in  the  shade 
and  fish,  did  you  never  wonder  who  it  was  that  was 
putting  the  worms  on  the  hook  for  him?  I  am  afraid, 
Eunice,  that,  as  they  say  up  in  Boston,  you  have  had 
the  wrong  dope. 

You  have  been  picturing  the  Lady  of  the  Taj  as  a 
sort  of  Oriental  dream,  a  petite  brunette  with  large  and 
lustrous  and  soulful  eyes  and  with  cute  little  ways — 
a  kind  of  ingenue  and  show-girl  combined.  Mumtaz 
may  have  looked  something  like  that  when  Jahan  first 
began  to  send  the  candy,  but  at  the  time  of  which  we 
write  she  was  the  mother  of  seven  children.  And  it 
is  an  unfortunate  habit  of  all  Oriental  women  to 
materially  change  in  appearance  when  they  reach  that 
stage  of  life.  The  waist-line  becomes  dislodged  and 
slips  up  under  the  arm-pits,  and  they  appear  otherwise 
negligee.  Take  it  from  me,  Eunice,  Mumtaz  sleeps  in 
the  Taj  for  reasons  wholly  disconnected  with  her  per- 
sonal appearance. 

Blood  and  rearing  had  something  to  do  with  it. 
Do  you  remember  a  beautiful  little  tomb  across  the 
river  from  Agra?  The  name  of  Ittnad-ud-Daulah  is 


122          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

on  the  doorplate,  and  a  precious  old  rascal  was  he. 
His  wife  was  the  grandmother  of  Mumtaz,  and  she 
must  have  been  a  jewel  of  a  woman,  one  who  knew 
how  to  bring  up  girls.  Her  daughter  had  the  mis- 
fortune to  be  one  of  the  wives  of  Jahangir,  Jahan's 
father.  Jahangir  was  a  dissipated  sot,  but  this  wife 
loved  him  right  on  through  it  all  and  did  her  best  to 
get  him  into  the  Band  of  Hope.  Now  this  wife's 
brother  was  the  father  of  Mumtaz,  and  both  she  and 
Grandma  had  a  lot  to  do  with  getting  the  future  Lady 
of  the  Taj  started  right.  When  the  little  girl  became 
Empress  of  the  Moghul  Empire — only  one  short  year 
before  her  death — she  had  a  lot  of  family  tradition  to 
live  up  to.  And  she  did  it. 

I  can't  prove  it  by  the  letter-file,  but  something  tells 
me  that  Mumtaz  knew  the  worst  about  her  Lord  of 
the  Two  Horns  and  stood  right  by  him  in  spite  of  all. 
If  she  didn't  always  know  exactly  what  was  going 
on  there  in  the  shady  corner  of  the  porch,  she  knew 
it  was  going  on — but  she  didn't  go  out  on  the  balcony 
and  yell  up  the  neighbours. 

And  when  the  Shah  would  come  in  from  a  hard 
day's  work  of  subduing  rebel  chieftains  and  annexing 
their  domains,  Mother  was  right  on  the  job.  That 
bunch  of  chattering  chorus-girls  would  flock  around 
him,  as  he  sat  there  by  the  fountain  with  his  tired 
feet  cooling  in  the  water,  and  see  what  they  could 
find  in  his  pockets  in  the  line  of  court-jewels.  But 
Mumtaz  would  come  along  and  say :  "  Father,  you 
are  working  yourself  too  hard;  you  ought  to  let  George 
do  some  of  it.  Bring  your  pipe  into  the  sitting-room 


RAJPUTANA  BAND  PLAYING  "  SUWANEE  RIVER 


IT  HAI'l'F.XKl)   IN  THE  CITY  OF  THE  TAJ 


AFTERGLOW  OF  MOGHUL  SPLENDOUR   123 

and  lie  down  on  the  sofa  while  I  rub  some  liniment 
on  your  back." 

That's  the  kind  of  a  woman  Mumtaz  was — I'll  bet 
my  hat  on  it.  And  that  is  why  she  is  the  Lady  of  the 
Taj  to  this  day.  If  one  of  those  simpering  typewriters 
had  rubbed  his  head  for  three  minutes,  she  would  have 
wanted  a  quart  of  emeralds  for  it. 

And  when  she  went  out  she  left  a  great  hole  in 
his  life,  one  that  nobody  else  could  fill.  It  was  easy 
enough  to  fill  those  marble  terraces  with  gorgeous 
butterflies,  but  he  never  found  anybody  who  could  sit 
in  Mother's  chair  over  in  the  corner. 

Let  us  be  glad  that  he  appreciated  her  and  set  about 
building  something  that  should  be  worthy  of  her.  The 
whitest  marble  there  at  Jeypore,  three  hundred  miles 
away,  was  none  too  good  nor  too  hard  to  get.  Every 
man  in  the  Empire  who  had  a  big  idea  about  mauso- 
leums could  call  him  up  freely  on  the  telephone  in  the 
middle  of  the  night.  Men  who  had  spent  their  lives 
making  caskets  for  jewels  were  invited  to  bring  their 
skill  to  the  Palace  and  lay  out  colour-schemes  for 
beautifying  the  tomb.  The  Taj  and  Solomon's  Temple 
— those  were  the  two  stupendous  building  tasks  of 
antiquity  that  used  up  all  the  high-grade  talent  that 
could  be  found  in  the  land  or  imported. 

And  the  result  was  this  immense  casket  of  beautiful 
white,  with  its  dome  nearly  two  hundred  feet  in  the 
air  and  its  shapely  minarets  at  the  four  corners  of  the 
platform.  On  the  side  opposite  the  Jumna  was  laid 
out  the  spacious  garden,  with  a  wide  watercourse  down 
the  vista  of  cypresses  to  the  Great  Gateway  of  red 


124          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

sandstone  and  marble  cupolas.  And  even  beyond  this 
is  an  outer  court  and  a  mosque  of  red  sandstone  to 
add  impressiveness  even  to  the  approach. 

Pass  reverently  within  the  portal  of  the  Taj  and 
grope  your  way  through  the  dim  light  that  filters 
through  marble  lace.  You  are  within  an  octagonal 
room  with  24-foot  sides,  directly  beneath  the  dome. 
Side  by  side  in  the  centre,  enclosed  by  a  screen  of 
white  marble,  are  the  cenotaphs  of  Shah  Jahan  and 
Mumtaz,  exquisitely  chiselled  and  inlaid — the  Queen's 
having  also  the  ninety-nine  names  of  God.  Above 
hangs  a  costly  Cairene  lamp — the  beautiful  gift  of 
Lord  Curzon.  But  you  must  descend  through  a  dark 
passageway  to  a  vaulted  chamber  beneath  if  you  would 
stand  in  the  presence  of  that  which  is  mortal  of  the 
Great  Moghul  and  his  famous  wife. 

One  of  the  remarkable  features  about  the  interior 
of  the  Taj  is  its  echo.  And  surely  the  pathetic 
"  Rosary  "  has  never  been  sung  amid  more  appropriate 
surroundings  nor  heard  with  such  feelings  of  emotion 
as  when  it  was  sung  by  one  of  the  Cleveland  ladies 
here  in  this  echoing  tomb. 

Does  the  Taj  Mahal  come  up  to  the  specifications  ? 
Yes,  seen  from  any  angle  or  at  any  hour  of  the  day, 
by  sunlight  or  moonlight  or  twilight.  From  Bombay 
came  a  special  party  of  250  people,  travelling  two 
nights  and  a  day  by  train;  they  spent  the  day  in  Agra, 
and  returned  over  the  same  monotonous  route — but 
•it  was  worth  it. 

The  British  deserve  great  credit  for  the  manner 


AFTERGLOW  OF  MOGHUL  SPLENDOUR   125 

in  which  they  have  preserved  and  restored  these 
Moghul  memorials.  Akbar's  great  fort  is  of  course 
occupied  in  part  by  the  garrison,  but  the  Palace  is  un- 
touched. Instead  of  utilizing  these  historic  pavilions 
as  the  offices  of  state,  they  are  reserved  for  the  enjoy- 
ment of  the  traveller.  That  Palace  of  Jahan  would 
have  been  a  beautiful  place  for  the  lieutenant-gov- 
ernor; the  mausoleum  of  Itmad-ud-Daulah  might  eas- 
ily have  become  some  official's  summer  villa;  and  the 
great  enclosure  at  Sikandra  would  have  been  worthy 
of  even  a  Viceroy.  But  they  are  held  sacred  to  the 
memory  of  the  great  Moghuls. 

That  was  the  most  glorious  epoch  of  India,  when 
the  magnificent  court  of  the  Moghuls  shone  in  its 
splendour  on  the  banks  of  the  Jumna  at  Agra  or  at 
Delhi.  Never  again,  in  all  probability,  will  the  world 
have  in  it  such  barbaric  displays  of  wealth  and  beauty 
and  wickedness.  And,  with  the  bloody,  merciless 
record  of  these  great  sovereigns  in  your  mind,  drive 
out  to  Sikandra,  climb  up  to  the  white  marble  court 
on  the  top  of  Akbar's  great  mausoleum,  and  stand  in 
silence  at  the  tomb  of  the  one  noble  and  humane  con- 
queror in  the  Moghul  Hall  of  Fame. 

For  the  convenience  of  those  who  have  made  the 
pilgrimage  to  Agra  and  of  those  who  shall  follow 
after,  the  following  memorandum  of  the  Moghul  Em- 
perors is  here  inserted : 

THE  GREATEST  OF  THE  MOGHULS 

(i)  Baber,  1526-1530.  Had  the  blood  of  Ghengis  Khan  in  his 
arteries  and  began  to  cut  a  wide  swath  when  he  was  only  twelve. 


126          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

Invaded  India  in  1526.  Defeated  100,000  men  and  1,000  elephants 
near  Delhi  and  lifted  out  of  his  seat  the  Emperor,  Ibrahim  Lodi 
— no  relation  to  Mr.  Carl  Lody !  Baber  is  buried  at  Kabul. 

(2)  Humayun,    1530-1556.     Left    two    great    memorials:    his 
splendid  tomb  near  Delhi,  and  a  son  named  Akbar.    Built  the  old 
fort  at  Delhi. 

(3)  Akbar,   1556-1605.     The  greatest  and  noblest  of  the  lot. 
Another  Alexander  the  Great.     Contemporary  of  Queen  Eliza- 
beth.    Built  the  Fort  at  Agra,  the  Red  Palace,  and  Fatehpur- 
Sikri.     Tomb   5   1-2    miles   from   Agra.      (Fatehpur-Sikri,   the 
Deserted  City,  is  22  miles.) 

(4)  Shah  Jahan,  1628-1658.    Married  Arjamand  Banu  Begum 
(Mumtaz)    in  1615.     Built  the  Taj   Mahal,  the  Pearl  Mosque, 
and  the  Jama  Musjid   (mosque  in  honour  of  the  daughter  who 
afterward  shared  his  captivity),  all  at  Agra.     He  also  founded 
modern  Delhi,  built  the  Jumma  Musjid  there  and  erected  the 
Peacock  Throne.     Buried  in  the  Taj. 

(6)  Aurungzebe,  1658-1707.  Son  of  the  Lady  of  the  Taj. 
Lived  in  Delhi.  Built  the  imposing  mosque  of  Aurungzebe  at 
Benares.  He  was  the  last  of  the  Great  Moghuls. 

Bahadur  Shah,  a  puppet  of  Moghul  lineage,  tried  to  regain 
the  throne  during  the  Great  Mutiny.  At  Delhi,  in  1857,  the  last 
representative  of  the  old  British  East  India  Company  sat  in 
judgment  on  this  last  of  the  Moghul  line  and  sentenced  him 
"  to  be  transported  across  the  seas  as  a  felon."  He  died  at 
Rangoon  in  1862. 


XIV 
WITHIN  DELHI'S  KASHMERE  GATE 

NOW  that  I  come  to  think  of  it,  I  was  never 
elected  president  of  my  class,  nor  to  a  staff 
editorship  of  the  college  monthly,  nor  did  I 
attain  to  such  dignity  as  the  captain  of  the  baseball 
team.  But  life  has  its  compensations.  I  have  stood 
where  "  the  forlorn  hope  "  blew  in  the  Kashmere  Gate ; 
I  have  sat  on  the  site  of  the  Peacock  Throne;  and 
I  have  seen  a  hair  from  the  Prophet's  beard. 

Now  who  would  have  thought  Mohammed  red- 
headed? I  call  upon  both  of  the  Across-India  parties 
to  bear  me  record  that  the  sample  shown  us  in  the 
Jumma  Mas j id  by  the  Custodian  of  the  Sacred  Hair 
was  of  a  fiery  red.  Surely  it  cannot  be  that  the 
Prophet  used  somebody's  dye! 

That  Jumma  Mas  j  id  is  the  greatest  mosque  in 
India.  A  photograph  preceding  this  chapter  shows 
what  it  looks  like  on  prayer-meeting  day  (Friday),  but 
no  illustration  can  give  the  effect  that  comes  from 
red  sandstone  below  gradually  fading  into  white  marble 
at  the  top  of  the  minarets.  But  will  somebody  tell  me 
how  the  followers  of  the  Prophet  got  rid  of  that 
stray  hive  of  bees  that  had  swarmed  and  settled  upon 

127 


128          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

the  chandelier  of  the  Holy  Place  on  the  day  the  West- 
ward party  visited  it?  I  am  not  familiar  with  the 
ritual  of  the  Koran  covering  that  emergency. 

It  was  circus  day  when  I  first  saw  Delhi — the  eve 
of  the  Durbar,  the  greatest  show  on  earth.  As  our 
long  special  rolled  into  the  Cantonment  station,  close 
behind  us  came  two  other  specials  loaded  with  per- 
formers— two  stately  maharajahs  and  two  troupes  of 
wild-looking  retainers  clad  in  their  most  joyful 
raiment.  Staff-officers  detailed  to  meet  Their  Royal 
Highnesses  chased  themselves  up  and  down  the  plat- 
form with  clanking  sabres  and  spurs  that  rattled  like 
a  typewriter  (machine)  with  locomotor-ataxia.  The 
retainers  rolled  out  of  the  coaches  with  their  bedding, 
their  stew-pans,  their  regalia,  and  their  pipes  held  in 
affectionate  embrace — but  what  to  do  next?  The  ex- 
citement of  being  in  Delhi  stood  them  on  their  heads 
until  His  Royal  Highness  began  to  sketch  in  rough 
outline  what  would  happen  quickly  if  they  did  not  get 
back  upon  the  feet  of  dignity. 

And  the  Chandni  Chowk,  the  Queen's  Road,  and 
every  other  street  of  Delhi  were  one  continuous  mov- 
ing-picture show,  for  all  India — from  the  Punjab  to 
the  sea — was  turned  loose  in  town.  It  is  not  often 
that  so  many  kinds  of  people  are  brought  together  on 
this  earth.  With  the  remembrance  of  this  still  fresh 
in  mind,  Delhi  looked  motley  and  colourless  to  me 
when  I  came  westward  and  saw  it  at  its  normal.  But 
that  street  that  winds  from  somewhere  into  the  Chowk 
— jammed  with  one-  and  two-camel  wagons  having 
funny  wheels,  the  heads  of  the  tall  camels  peering 


WITHIN  DELHI'S  KASHMERE  GATE     129 

over  an  auto  or  a  street-car — that  is  to  me  one  of 
the  most  picturesque  spots  in  India. 

But  there  is  so  much  to  occupy  the  traveller's  time 
in  Delhi  that  he  has  little  opportunity  to  roam  about 
the  quaint  streets  of  the  new  capital  of  India.  And 
— alas  for  the  seller  of  carved  ivories  and  embroidered 
silks — he  has  little  chance  to  spend  his  money  except 
for  the  gewgaws  caught  on  the  fly.  But  after  the  long 
hot  day  is  over  and  the  traveller  lands  at  the  big  sta- 
tion, then  it  is  that  the  bazaar  diplomat  gets  in  his 
fine  work.  By  arrangement  with  the  railroad  officials, 
he  spreads  his  wares  out  upon  the  platform  alongside 
the  train  and  ensnares  the  most  avaricious.  Those  elec- 
tric-light bazaars  on  the  platforms  across  India — have 
you  forgotten  them? 

Now  the  sights  of  modern  Delhi  are  of  two  kinds 
— the  Moghul  memorials  and  the  Mutiny  memorials. 
Of  the  latter,  the  Kashmere  Gate  and  the  memorial 
erected  on  the  Ridge  are  the  chief.  Of  Moghul  archi- 
tecture, the  Jumma  Mas j  id  comes  first.  The  rough- 
ness of  the  red  sandstone  without  gives  no  hint  of  the 
dazzling  beauty  within,  where  the  pavement  of  its 
great  court  and  the  walls  that  enclose  it  and  the  mina- 
rets that  rise  against  the  sky  are  all  of  white  marble. 
From  one  of  its  galleries  the  eye  may  sweep  the  whole 
beautiful  city.  And  pleasant  is  the  sight  from  here 
of  Shah  Jahan's  great  Fort — also  of  red  sandstone — 
which  is  at  the  foot  of  the  gentle  slope  upon  which 
the  mosque  stands.  Triumphant  over  the  Lahore  Gate 
hangs  the  British  ensign,  and  all  about  are  the  wireless 
telegraph  masts  that  suggest  the  impossibility  of  any 


130          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

future  mutiny  being  conducted  along  the  same  lines 
as  that  of  1857. 

Driving  through  the  Delhi  Gate  of  the  Fort,  past 
the  big  black  elephants  and  the  sentry,  then  winding 
about  until  we  are  behind  the  Lahore  Gate,  we  come 
to  the  glory  of  Moghul  Delhi,  the  Imperial  Palace. 
It  is  the  work  of  the  builder  of  the  Taj  and  is  more 
ornate  than  the  Palace  in  the  Agra  Fort,  though  less 
suggestive  of  intrigue.  Only  the  most  conspicuous 
features  can  receive  bare  mention  here. 

Under  the  colonnade  of  the  Hall  of  Public  Audi- 
ence, in  a  recess  decorated  by  Austin  of  Bordeaux, 
is  just  such  a  throne  as  the  imagination  pictures — but 
it  was  not  herein  that  the  Moghul  sat,  they  say;  this 
was  the  seat  of  his  Wazir.  The  Emperor  lounged 
upon  the  Peacock  Throne,  which  seems  to  have  been 
a  movable  institution.  (Nadir  Shah,  the  Persian, 
found  it  to  be  so,  for  he  moved  it  off  to  Persia !)  This 
is  what  it  was  like : 

"  It  was  so  called  from  its  having  the  figures  of  two  peacocks 
standing  behind  it,  their  tails  being  expanded,  and  the  whole  so 
inlaid  with  sapphires,  rubies,  emeralds,  pearls,  and  other  precious 
stones  of  appropriate  colours,  as  to  represent  life.  The  throne 
itself  was  6  ft.  long  by  4  ft.  broad ;  it  stood  on  six  massive  feet, 
which,  with  the  body,  were  of  solid  gold,  inlaid  with  rubies, 
emeralds,  and  diamonds.  It  was  surmounted  by  a  canopy  of 
gold,  supported  by  twelve  pillars,  all  richly  emblazoned  with 
costly  gems,  and  a  fringe  of  pearls  ornamented  the  borders  of 
the  canopy.  Between  the  two  peacocks  stood  the  figure  of  a 
parrot,  said  to  have  been  carved  out  of  a  single  emerald." 

In  the  Hall  of  Private  Audience,  which  is  "  still 
one  of  the  most  graceful  buildings  in  the  world,"  is 


WITHIN  DELHI'S  KASHMERE  GATE     131 

a  marble  platform  on  which  the  dazzling  throne  used 
to  stand.  This  hall  is  particularly  rich  in  historical 
associations  and  on  its  wall  is  the  famous  inscription, 
"If  there  be  a  heaven  upon  earth,  it  is  this,  it  is  this, 
it  is  this !  " 

On  the  way  to  the  Painted  Palace  of  the  Chief 
Sultana,  just  beyond,  you  pass  beneath  an  alabaster 
panel  with  the  Scales  of  Justice  conspicuous  against 
a  decorated  background.  The  Painted  Palace  opens 
into  a  suite  of  imperial  bathrooms,  and  here  you  begin 
to  get  an  idea  of  what  it  meant  to  be  a  Great  Moghul. 
Take  the  Emperor's  bath  as  an  example.  In  the 
centre  of  a  large  room  of  white  marble  is  a  sunken 
pool  about  ten  feet  square,  with  hot  and  cold  water 
connections  and  facilities  for  spraying  the  Royal  Per- 
son with  rose-water  and  perfumed  oils.  Lolling  in  the 
pool,  His  Ecstatic  Majesty  had  a  picture-show  painted 
on  the  dome  overhead — but  the  exhibit  is  gone  now. 
What  vandal  hand  looted  the  bathroom  thus?  The 
painter's — by  order  of  the  visiting  Prince  of  Wales, 
whom  we  know  as  the  late  Edward  VII.  "  They  must 
have  been  pretty  raw !  "  said  one  of  the  Clevelanders, 
when  the  guide  told  the  story. 

Even  when  the  thirteen  acres  of  dazzling  Durbar  (to 
describe  which  would  take  thirteen  chapters)  are 
passed  over  in  silence,  there  yet  remains  enough  in- 
teresting material  in  and  around  Delhi  to  make  several 
books.  The  ruins  of  former  greatness  are  scattered 
over  forty-five  square  miles  of  area !  Those  who  mo- 
tored to  the  Kutub  Minar  saw  a  Mohammedan  tower 
of  victory  that  dates  back  to  1196,  while  near  it  stands 


132          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

a  pillar  (forged  as  a  single  bar  of  iron)  that  runs 
back  to  the  fifth  century  of  the  Christian  era.  "  After 
an  exposure  to  wind  and  rain  for  fourteen  centuries, 
it  is  unrusted  and  the  capital  and  inscription  are  as 
clear  as  when  put  up." 

And,  it  may  be  remarked  in  passing,  that  there  is 
no  urgent  necessity  for  Americans  to  forget  that  one 
of  their  countrywomen,  the  lamented .  Lady  Curzon, 
was  the  Viceregal  Queen  at  the  greatest  Durbar  that 
modern  India  has  known,  one  that  was  not  even  sur- 
passed by  that  which  King  George  recently  honoured 
with  his  presence.  Also,  that  it  was  Mary  Leiter's 
scholarly  and  distinguished  husband — the  ablest  Vice- 
roy India  has  ever  had — who  did  most  of  the  work 
in  restoring  the  Moghul  Palace  to  something  of  its 
former  glory. 

Delhi,  Cawnpore,  and  Lucknow  are  the  Mutiny 
Cities  that  interest  the  American  traveller.  The  cata- 
logue of  brave  deeds  is  long  and  of  intense  interest 
to  the  Briton,  who  knows  the  regiments  by  name, 
but  to  us  only  the  most  daring  have  fascination.  Not 
who  did  it — but  what  did  they  do?  The  exploits  of 
the  Sixty-first  Foot  concern  us  no  more  than  those 
of  the  Firsty-Sixth  Horse.  In  my  Thumb- Nail  His- 
tory of  the  Great  Mutiny,  I  find  the  following  entries 
that  belong  to  Delhi : 

(i)  Cause  of  the  Mutiny.  Lord  Roberts  says:  "The  issue  of 
Enfield  cartridges,  alleged  to  be  greased  with  a  mixture  of 
cow's  fat  and  [hog's]  lard  (the  one  being  as  obnoxious  to  the 
Hindus  as  the  other  is  to  the  Mussulmans)  was,  I  believe,  the 
spark  which  ignited  the  smouldering  feeling  of  discontent." 


WITHIN  DELHI'S  KASHMERE  GATE     133 

First  Outbreak.  At  Calcutta,  in  February,  1857.  May  loth, 
the  troops  at  Meerut,  40  miles  distant,  mutinied  and  came  to 
Delhi.  The  city  had  no  British  troops  except  officers  of  na- 
tive regiments.  These  officers  were  murdered  and  the  Moghul 
king  was  declared  Emperor  of  India.  A  lieutenant  and  eight 
soldiers  held  the  arsenal  for  three  hours  and  then  blew  up  the 
magazine.  Five  lived  to  receive  the  Victoria  Cross. 

On  June  8th,  about  4,000  British  and  loyal  Indian  troops  cap- 
tured the  Ridge  that  faces  the  Delhi  walls.  Although  the  odds 
against  them  were  only  four  to  one,  they  could  not  enter  the 
city,  because  it  had  been  fortified  by  themselves  against  just 
such  a  contingency,  and  sepoy  gunners  (trained  by  themselves) 
were  standing  behind  114  pieces  of  heavy  artillery. 

On  August  I4th  came  General  John  Nicholson,  a  soldier  of 
the  Gordon  type,  created  without  fear.  Sept.  6th,  his  siege- 
train  arrived.  Sept.  I4th  he  stormed  the  city;  he  finished  the 
job  on  Sept.  20th  by  proxy,  five  days  before  Havelock  and  Out- 
ram  fought  their  way  into  Lucknow.  Nicholson  died  Sept.  23d, 
age  35.  As  he  was  borne  in  silence  to  the  grave,  an  expedi- 
tion marched  away  to  relieve  the  garrison  penned  up  in  the  Agra 
fort. 

While  the  heroic  defence  of  Lucknow  is  better 
known,  it  was  marked  by  no  deeds  of  daring  that 
surpass  those  of  the  storming  of  Delhi  on  September 
I4th.  Nicholson  lined  up  his  men  before  daybreak — 
only  about  4,000,  not  counting  the  reserves — and 
divided  them  into  four  columns,  each  with  a  specific 
task. 

Of  the  four  columns,  we  shall  follow  only  the  one 
that  was  to  enter  by  the  Kashmere  Gate — and  a  brave 
story  it  is! 

Unfortunately,  that  gateway  is  so  located  that  the 
shells  of  the  siege-guns  could  not  reach  it.  Two  En- 
gineer lieutenants,  three  sergeants,  a  bugler,  and  a 
native  havildar  with  eight  native  privates  were  con- 


134          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

secrated  as  "  the  forlorn  hope  "  to  blow  open  the  gate. 
Note  how  simple  it  was!  All  that  they  had  to  do 
was  to  carry  bags  of  powder  on  their  shoulders,  pile 
them  up  against  the  right-hand  gate,  attach  a  fuse, 
light  it,  and  jump  into  a  ditch  within  thirty  seconds. 
But  that  gateway  and  the  wall  were  lined  with  sepoys, 
who  were  shooting  at  them  from  the  moment  they 
came  in  sight!  It  was  expected  that  at  least  one  of 
the  five  officers  would  live  long  enough  to  strike  the 
match.  Here  is  what  happened: 

"  Outside  the  gate  the  ditch  was  spanned  by  a  wooden  bridge, 
the  planks  of  which  had  been  removed,  leaving  only  the  sleepers 
intact.  Passing  through  the  outer  gateway,  Home  (who  was  in 
front)  crossed  one  of  the  sleepers  with  the  bugler  under  a  sharp 
musketry  fire,  planted  his  bag  of  powder,  and  leaped  into  the 
ditch.  Carmichael  followed,  but,  before  he  could  lay  his  bag,  was 
shot  dead.  Then  Smith,  who  was  just  behind,  planted  his  own 
and  his  comrade's  bag,  and  arranged  the  fuses ;  while  Salkeld, 
holding  a  slow  match  in  his  hand,  stood  by,  waiting  to  fire  the 
charge.  Just  as  he  was  going  to  do  so,  he  was  struck  down  by 
two  bullets.  As  he  fell  he  held  out  the  match,  telling  Smith  to 
take  it  and  fire.  Burgess,  who  was  nearer  to  the  wounded  man, 
took  it  instead,  but  presently  cried  that  it  had  gone  out,  and  just 
as  Smith  was  handing  him  a  box  of  matches,  fell  over  into  the 
ditch,  mortally  wounded.  Smith,  now  (as  he  thought)  left 
alone,  ran  close  up  to  the  powder  bags  to  avoid  the  enemy's 
fire,  struck  a  light,  and  was  in  the  act  of  applying  it  when  the 
port-fire  in  the  fuse  went  off  in  his  face.  As  he  was  plunging 
through  a  cloud  of  smoke  into  the  ditch,  he  heard  the  thunder 
of  the  explosion." 

Trumpeter  Hawthorne,  standing  with  bugle  at  his 
lips,  joyfully  blew  the  "  come-on  "  note  of  triumph. 
Did  he  then  duck  and  run  to  cover  ?  Not  Hawthorne. 
He  stood  by  the  helpless  Lieutenant  Salkeld  to  shield 
him  until  the  storm  was  past. 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  RESURRECTION 


XV 
THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  CAWNPORE  WELL 

THE  tragic  story  of  Cawnpore  is  far  too  sicken- 
ing to  be  told  except  in  outline.    Its  details  are 
far  more  terrible  than  is  generally  supposed. 
Here  are  the  essential  facts : 

June  4,  1857,  the  native  regiments  mutinied.  Nana  Sahib, 
Maharajah  of  Bithoor,  with  a  grievance  against  the  Govern- 
ment, took  command  of  them. 

Wheeler  was  caught  unprepared  within  sorry  entrenchments 
near  the  Memorial  Church.  He  had  about  400  soldiers  and  376 
women  and  children.  Nana  had  3,000  trained  sepoys,  the  maga- 
zine, and  the  treasury. 

For  three  weeks  the  desperate  band  fought  him  off,  amid 
hardships  incredibly  great.  The  only  well  within  the  entrench- 
ment was  exposed  to  the  enemy's  fire  day  and  night,  and  it 
was  "  a  service  of  death "  to  bring  water  from  it.  Into  an- 
other well,  just  outside,  were  lowered  250  of  the  British  dead 
during  this  siege. 

On  June  25th,  a  native  woman  brought  a  letter  from  Nana. 
It  offered  safe  transport  to  Allahabad  for  all  the  garrison. 

On  June  27th,  in  the  cool  of  the  morning,  they  were  escorted 
down  to  the  Massacre  Ghat.  When  all  were  aboard  the  river 
boats,  a  bugle  was  blown.  The  boatmen  deserted  the  boats, 
which  had  not  yet  been  pushed  off  into  deep  water.  From  am- 
bush came  a  hail  of  musketry  and  a  shower  of  grape-shot  that 
swept  every  boat.  Horsemen  then  rode  into  the  shallow  water 
and  hacked  with  their  sabres. 

The  survivors,  about  125  women  and  children,  some  of  whom 

135 


136          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

were  wounded,  were  dragged  back  to  Cawnpore  and  thrown 
into  a  small  house.  From  other  sources  the  number  was  in- 
creased until  it  reached  206  women  and  children,  and  five  men. 
They  were  subjected  to  great  indignities  by  Nana,  who  lived  a 
life  of  revelry  in  a  house  that  overlooked  the  prison. 

On  July  1 5th,  a  sudden  message  came  that  Havelock  was  near 
at  hand.  The  five  men  were  brought  out  and  killed  in  his  pres- 
ence. Then  a  detail  of  sepoys  was  sent  to  shoot  the  women 
and  children  through  the  windows.  Their  nerve  failed  them 
and  they  shot  at  the  ceiling  instead.  Then  Nana  sent  into  the 
house  a  burly  Afghan  and  two  Hindus,  with  long  knives. 

The  next  morning  the  dead  (and  some  who  were  not)  were 
dragged  to  the  well  and  thrown  in — the  well  underneath  the 
Angel. 

Then  Nana  gathered  up  his  sepoys  and  went  to  meet  Have- 
lock.  The  bands  of  the  mutineers  were  playing  such  airs  as 
"  Auld  Lang  Syne "  when  the  worn  Highland  Brigade  came 
limping  down  the  road.  Nana's  men  got  all  that  was  coming 
to  them  that  day — and  the  rest  came  later. 

Aside  from  the  grim  memorials  of  the  tragedy  of 
1857,  Cawnpore  has  little  to  interest  the  traveller. 
The  native  town  is  like  all  native  towns,  and  the 
Cantonment  is  a  military  camp.  Barracks  filled  with 
the  famous  Gordon  Highlanders  are  passed  by  well- 
metalled  roads  lined  with  trees,  and  then  comes  a  suc- 
cession of  bungalows,  upon  the  gate-posts  of  which 
are  such  signs  as  this :  "  Major  MacScot,  2nd  Gordon 
Highlanders." 

One  of  the  first  places  visited  is  the  old  cemetery, 
with  its  simple  memorials  to  the  heroic  dead.  Among 
them  is  a  marble  cross  sacred  to  the  memory  of  a 
lieutenant,  three  sergeants,  three  corporals,  and  forty- 
five  privates  of  G  Company  of  H.  M.  84th.  The  in- 
scription ends  with  these  words :  "  Of  this  Company, 
only  one  man,  Private  Murphy,  escaped."  To  get 


THE  ANGEL  OF  THE  CAWNPORE  WELL   137 

your  name  recorded  on  a  tombstone  without  first 
having  to  die — surely  that  is  an  achievement  distinctly 
Irish.  This  is  how  it  happened: 

While  the  mutineers  were  cowardly  slaughtering 
the  trapped  men  and  women  at  the  Massacre  Ghat, 
one  of  the  boats  floated  downstream  with  nearly  a 
hundred  people  on  it.  For  thirty-six  hours  it  drifted 
down  the  Ganges,  with  sepoys  following  along  the 
banks  and  firing  upon  it.  During  the  second  night  it 
lost  the  channel  and  strayed  into  a  side-stream.  The 
next  morning,  while  the  sepoys  were  screwing  up  their 
courage  to  board  it,  two  captains  and  eleven  privates 
leaped  ashore  and  scattered  the  whole  bunch.  But 
the  boat  drifted  on  and  the  men  ashore  had  to  take 
refuge  in  a  small  temple.  From  this  they  burst  out 
and  made  for  the  river.  Four  of  them  managed  to 
swim  to  the  opposite  shore  and  were  sheltered  by  a 
petty  chief.  One  of  the  four  was  Private  Murphy! 
The  drifting  boat  was  soon  captured  and  the  prisoners 
dragged  back  to  their  fate  at  Cawnpore. 

The  chieftain  who  succoured  the  four  swimmers 
became  Sir  Digbijai  Singh.  His  elevation  recalls  the 
story  of  the  chieftain  of  Gwalior,  who  remained  loyal 
even  when  nearly  15,000  of  his  own  troops  went  over 
to  the  mutineers.  That  chief  is  now  as  follows: 
Major-General  Maharaja  Sir  Madho  Rao  Sindhia, 
G.C.S.I.,  G.C.V.O.,  A.D.C.,  LL.D.  The  British  have 
long  memories. 

From  the  Memorial  Church,  travellers  are  in  the 
habit  of  taking  the  Via  Dolorosa  to  the  Massacre 
Ghat,  where  a  deserted  and  ruined  Hindu  place  of 


138          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

prayer  marks  the  scene  of  the  first  awful  tragedy. 
The  Ganges  is  very  wide  here,  with  islands  of  sand 
in  midstream.  In  the  late  afternoon  sunlight,  a  low- 
caste  native  was  washing  his  scant  clothing  in  the 
muddy  water,  while  beyond  him  floated  a  decaying 
body  upon  the  sluggish  current,  with  kites  hovering 
over  it  and  vultures  sitting  motionless  on  the  sand- 
bar toward  which  it  was  veering.  In  the  deepening 
twilight,  when  the  idle  crowd  had  gone,  I  came  again, 
to  stand  in  silence  upon  what  is  to  me  a  spot  of  great 
impressiveness.  And  here,  to  my  surprise,  I  found  a 
solitary  British  soldier,  who  had  chosen  it  as  a  place 
of  reverie! 

Surely  no  finer  action  ever  closed  a  great  tragedy 
than  the  unveiling  over  the  Cawnpore  Well  of  that 
beautiful  Angel  of  Peace  (or  of  the  Resurrection). 
Amid  all  the  associations  of  treachery  and  cowardice, 
it  stands  there  as  a  monument  of  forgiveness,  and  its 
silent  influence  is  as  powerful  as  the  fragrance  that 
comes  from  crushed  jasmine  and  mignonette. 

At  least,  so  it  seems  to  an  American.  But  to  the 
Englishman,  writh  all  the  bitter  memories  brought  back 
to  him  by  the  sight  of  the  memorials,  Cawnpore  has  a 
different  meaning.  He  does  not  merely  see  Cawnpore; 
he  feels  it.  Listen  to  Sir  Frederick  Treves's  descrip- 
tion of  the  Massacre  Ghat : 


"This  is  probably  the  very  bitterest  spot  on  the  earth,  this 
murderer's  stair,  this  devil's  trap,  this  traitor's  gate !  The  very 
stones  are  tainted  and  festered  with  mean  hate;  and,  until  it 
rots,  the  mud-covered  colonnade  will  be  foul  with  the  sneaking 
shadows  of  cowardice!" 


And  ever  upon  the  topmost  roof 

the  Banner  of  England  blew! 


XVI 
THE  BANNER  ON  LUCKNOW'S  ROOF 

TO  watch  grey  dawn  come  up  over  the  grey  land 
of  India,  and  to  see  your  train  come  to  a  stop 
alongside  a  spacious  station  that  has  the  word 
"  LUCKNOW  "  on  one  end — believe  me,  that  is  an 
event  in  life.  And  to  ride  over  the  historic  city  with 
a  veteran  who  was  a  boy  inside  the  walls  during  the 
terrible  siege  of  eighty-seven  days,  who  saw  Havelock's 
exhausted  men  crawl  in  through  the  Baillie  Guard 
gateway,  and  who  later  welcomed  Colin  Campbell's 
second  relief — what  is  a  day  in  Ceylon  in  comparison 
with  an  experience  like  that? 

But  let  us  stop  and  get  our  history  straightened  out 
before  we  start  in  to  relieve  Lucknow  again. 

May  3,  1857,  a  preliminary  outbreak  was  quelled.  May  30th, 
the  whole  bottom  dropped  out.  June  30th,  British  defeated  out- 
side the  city  and  driven  into  the  Residency.  Siege  begins.  July 
2d,  Fort  at  Machchi  Bhawan  evacuated  and  magazine  blown 
up.  On  the  same  day,  Sir  Henry  Lawrence  wounded.  Died  on 
July  4th. 

July  2Oth,  first  general  assault  repulsed  by  the  British. 
August  loth,  second  assault.  August  i8th,  third  assault.  Sept. 
5th,  fourth  assault. 

Sept.  23d,  artillery  firing  heard  in  the  direction  of  Cawnpore. 
Sept.  25th,  Havelock  enters  the  Residency  with  the  First  Re- 

139 


140          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

lief.  Less  than  1,000  remained  of  the  3,000  men,  women,  and 
children,  civilians  and  natives,  shut  in  87  days  before. 

Nov.  I2th,  Colin  Campbell  leaves  Cawnpore  with  the  Second 
Relief.  Nov.  I4th,  Kavanagh,  an  Irishman  disguised  as  a  native, 
wins  the  Victoria  Cross  by  stealing  out  of  the  Residency  and 
joining  Campbell  at  Alambagh  with  important  information. 
Nov.  i6th,  the  fight  at  Sikandra  Bagh.  Nov.  I7th  Campbell, 
Outram,  and  Havelock  meet,  and  Lucknow  is  relieved. 

Nov.  ipth,  women  and  children  withdrawn.  Nov.  22d,  gar- 
rison withdraws  at  midnight.  Nov.  24th,  Havelock  dies.  Dec. 
7th,  Lucknow  survivors  reach  Allahabad.  Outram  remains  at 
Alambagh  until  March,  1858,  when  Lucknow  is  retaken. 

The  Cleveland  Relief  of  Lucknow  is  accomplished 
geographically  instead  of  chronologically.  The  first 
point  of  interest  is  generally  passed  unnoticed — the 
Charbagh  Bridge,  near  the  station. 

The  hero  of  this  was  Lieutenant  Havelock,  the  son 
who  at  Cawnpore  had  coolly  ridden  his  horse  at  a 
walk  straight  upon  the  muzzle  of  a  cannon  that  was 
belching  grape.  The  mutineers  had  a  battery  of  six 
guns  on  the  farther  side  of  the  bridge,  loaded  with 
grape,  and  waiting  for  the  British  to  start  across.  An 
artillery  officer  named  Maude  ran  two  cannon  up  and 
tried  to  shell  this  battery  out  of  business,  but  his 
gunners  were  mown  down  as  fast  as  they  took  their 
places.  Madras  infantrymen  had  to  step  into  their 
places.  Meanwhile,  the  Madras  "  Lambs  "  were  be- 
hind a  hedge,  waiting  for  the  signal  to  charge.  Lieu- 
tenant Havelock  got  tired  of  waiting,  but  their  com- 
mander, General  Neill,  would  not  take  the  responsi- 
bility of  advancing  until  the  signal  came.  Havelock 
wheeled  his  horse  and  galloped  off  in  the  direction  of 
his  father — but  he  turned  as  soon  as  he  rounded  the 
bend,  and  came  riding  back  at  full  speed. 


THE  BANNER  ON  LUCKNOW'S  ROOF 

"  You  are  to  carry  the  bridge  at  once,  sir ! "  he 
shouted. 

The  "  Lambs  "  sprang  up  and  made  for  the  bridge, 
young  Havelock  in  the  front  rank.  The  first  storm  of 
grape  swept  the  bridge  clear  of  every  one  except  Hav- 
elock and  a  corporal — but  they  got  the  bridge.  ( In  the 
Lucknow  cemetery  are  buried  nearly  four  hundred  of 
this  fine  regiment,  including  the  fearless  Neill.) 

The  Clevelander's  route  follows  the  Havelock  Road 
for  about  three  miles,  and  he  halts  at  Sikandra  Bagh, 
where  the  Second  Relief  had  a  desperate  fight. 
Sikandra  Bagh  was  once  the  garden  of  a  Begum  of 
the  King  of  Oudh.  It  is  over  a  hundred  yards  square, 
enclosed  by  a  wall  twenty  feet  high,  loopholed  all 
around,  and  has  only  one  entrance.  Inside  were  three 
regiments  of  sepoys. 

Then  two  big  cannon  were  planted  in  front  of  the 
garden  wall.  It  took  an  hour  to  make  that  hole  in 
the  southeast  corner.  Meanwhile  the  Sutherland  High- 
landers and  a  regiment  of  bearded  Sikhs  were  tugging 
at  the  leash  like  a  bunch  of  bloodhounds. 

No  orders  were  necessary.  As  soon  as  the  wall 
began  to  crumble,  a  Sikh  officer  made  a  break  for  the 
hole.  His  men  followed,  but  all  of  the  officers  of 
the  regiment  went  down,  and  the  men  became  con- 
fused. But  while  this  was  going  on  in  the  ranks 
of  the  Sikhs,  a  sergeant-major  of  the  Highlanders  had 
also  started  for  the  hole  in  the  wall,  and  he  was  soon 
ahead  of  the  first  Sikh.  Then  the  bugle  turned  loose 
the  whole  regiment  of  Sutherland  Highlanders.  The 
first  man  through  the  breach  was  a  corporal,  killed. 


142          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

The  second  was  a  Sikh  officer,  killed.  The  third  was 
a  Highland  sergeant-major,  killed.  The  fourth  was 
a  captain  of  the  Highlanders,  wounded.  Then  every- 
body got  in,  one  way  or  another,  and  for  fifteen  min- 
utes Sikandra  Bagh  was  surely  a  rough  house.  With 
Cawnpore  vividly  in  remembrance,  no  prisoners  were 
taken.  The  colonel  of  the  Highlanders  himself  shot 
the  last  two  of  the  rebels  and  took  the  colours.  You 
who  wandered  carelessly  through  Sikandra  Bagh,  can 
you  imagine  what  it  looked  like  that  day? 

And  is  it  presumption  to  express  the  conviction  that 
the  Recording  Angel's  record  of  good  deeds  done  on 
that  day  is  full  of  items  about  men  whose  names  begin 
with  "  Mac  "  and  men  whose  beards  were  rolled  up 
around  the  edges  in  the  Sikh  fashion? 

Perhaps  you  have  forgotten  Kadam  Rasul,  the  next 
point  of  interest  on  the  road  to  the  Residency.  It 
is  a  holy  place  from  which  the  glory  has  departed. 
Up  to  the  time  of  the  Mutiny,  it  housed  one  of  the 
Prophet's  footprints,  in  stone,  but  the  footprint  walked 
away  in  the  confusion  of  events,  and  the  sanctity  of 
the  place  went  with  it.  The  alleged  imprint  of  Mo- 
hammed's toes  in  granite  seems  to  make  a  great  hit 
with  his  followers,  and  I  wonder  that  some  enterpris- 
ing American  has  not  started  a  footprint-factory. 
With  judicious  salesmanship,  it  might  be  only  a  short 
time  until  no  Mohammedan  home  would  be  complete 
without  a  footprint  with  an  American  trademark  on 
the  big-toe. 

Just  beyond  the  Kadam  Rasul  is  the  Shah  Najuf 
tomb,  the  burial-place  of  the  first  King  of  Oudh.  It 


THE  BANNER  ON  LUCKNOW'S  ROOF     143 

is  an  imposing  piece  of  architecture  and  has  furnish- 
ings that  are  supposed  to  be  sumptuous,  for  the  tomb 
is  an  endowed  institution;  but  neither  the  mausoleum 
nor  its  furnishings  is  comparable,  in  my  eyes,  to  the 
views  that  may  be  had  by  standing  under  its  arches 
and  looking  outward.  It  is  very  peaceful  now,  but 
in  '57  the  mutineers  again  held  up  Sir  Colin  at  this 
point.  The  enclosing  walls  were  so  thick  that  the 
cannon  could  make  no  breach.  Finally  a  Highlander 
found  a  weak  spot  and  the  men  who  had  taken  Sikan- 
dra  Bagh  rushed  it.  But  the  mutineers  had  a  place 
marked  "  Exit,"  and  they  exited  with  a  celerity  that 
would  be  surprising  to  those  who  know  the  usual 
speed  of  the  Hindu.  And  here  it  was  that  the  weary 
men  of  the  Second  Relief  spent  the  night,  almost  in 
sight  of  the  Residency. 

Do  you  remember  the  next  stop — the  unattractive 
Moti  Mahal,  on  the  bank  of  the  Gumti,  where  the  con- 
tests between  wild  beasts  were  held  in  the  old  days? 
Just  before  you  reached  it,  you  passed  a  building  of 
great  historic  interest — but  you  passed  it.  It  is  now 
the  Girls'  School,  but  in  the  stirring  days  it  was  the 
Khursaed  Munzil,  with  a  moat  twelve  feet  wide  sur- 
rounding it.  This  was  stormed  and  captured  the  next 
morning  after  Shah  Najuf,  and  the  fleeing  mutineers 
were  chased  into  the  Moti  Mahal  grounds.  But  a 
young  subaltern  was  just  then  climbing  to  the  roof  of 
the  Khursaed  Munzil  to  raise  a  flag  that  would  let 
the  men  in  the  Residency  know  how  near  was  their 
relief — and  the  subaltern  is  known  to-day  as  Lord 
Roberts,  the  one  man  who  can  vie  with  Lord  Kitchener 


144          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

in  the  claim  to  be  the  most  distinguished  man  in  the 
British  army.  And  it  was  in  this  building  that  soon 
occurred  the  memorable  meeting  between  Sir  Colin 
of  the  Second  Relief,  and  Havelock  and  Outram  who 
had  come  out  from  the  Residency  to  meet  him. 

Now  that  the  beleaguered  and  the  relieving  party 
have  come  together,  let  us  take  a  look  at  the  famous 
Residency — the  only  place  in  the  British  Empire  where 
the  flag  is  never  hauled  down,  day  nor  night. 

Entering  the  Baillie  Guard  Gate,  the  ruins  of  the 
historic  buildings  are  all  about  you,  standing  essen- 
tially as  they  were  when  Lucknow  was  retaken.  The 
Gate  itself  is  not  so  interesting  as  the  site  of  Aitken's 
gun  (to  the  right  as  you  enter),  for  it  was  through 
this  breach  that  Havelock's  men  entered,  the  gate 
itself  being  securely  closed  to  keep  the  mutineers  out. 
On  the  right,  gracefully  draped  in  morning-glories 
and  wistaria,  is  the  hospital;  on  the  left  are  the  bare 
walls  of  Dr.  Fayrer's  house,  and  therein  you  may  see 
one  of  the  most  impressive  memorials  in  India : 


Here  Sir  H.  Lawrence  died 
July  1857. 


And  in  the  cemetery  nearby  you  may  read  the  epitaph 
dictated  by  himself:  "  Here  lies  Henry  Lawrence,  who 
tried  to  do  his  duty.  May  the  Lord  have  mercy  on 
his  soul."  This  epitaph  will  be  of  special  interest  to 
those  who  hold  in  cherished  memory  the  Hero  of 
Khartoum,  "  Chinese  "  Gordon,  for  the  postscript  of 


THE  BANNER  ON  LUCKNOW'S  ROOF     145 

Gordon's  last  letter  to  his  sister  refers  to  it :  "I  am 
quite  happy,  thank  God,  and  like  Lawrence,  I  have 
tried  to  do  my  duty."  It  is  therefore  the  connecting 
link  between  the  two  heroes  who  met  tragic  deaths 
so  far  apart. 

One  of  the  picturesque  and  beautiful  sights  at  the 
Residency  building  is  that  of  the  English  roses  (white 
ramblers,  as  I  remember  them)  that  are  climbing  in 
great  profusion  over  the  rusty  cannon  that  the  muti- 
neers used  to  batter  these  walls.  Proud  as  the  British 
must  ever  be  of  the  great  defence  at  Lucknow,  their 
pride  does  not  obtrude  itself.  Everything  is  in  beauti- 
ful taste,  and  the  inscriptions  are  eloquent  in  their 
simplicity.  They  recalled  to  me  that  heroic  statue  of 
Wolfe  on  the  Plains  of  Abraham  at  Quebec,  whose 
inscription  is  this :  "  Here  died  Wolfe,  victorious." 

Do  you  remember  what  "  Kim  "  says  of  the  city 
of  Lucknow  ?  "  There  is  no  city — except  Bombay, 
the  queen  of  all — more  beautiful  in  her  garish  style 
than  Lucknow."  Driving  from  the  Residency  along 
the  road  that  leads  past  the  new  Medical  College  (one 
of  the  largest  and  handsomest  in  the  world),  you  will 
see  what  Mr.  Kipling  had  in  mind.  The  Imambaras, 
the  monumental  gateways,  and  the  mosques  come  as 
a  great  surprise. 

I  am  well  aware  that  sculptors  and  architectural 
experts  say  mean  and  cutting  things  about  all  of  them, 
but  that  does  not  prevent  me  from  saying  that  not 
even  the  Moghul  buildings  of  Agra  and  Delhi  im- 
pressed me  more  profoundly,  except  in  their  historical 
associations.  The  Great  Imambara  or  mausoleum  of 


146          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

Nawab  Asaf-ud-Daula  is  said  to  have  cost  five  million 
dollars;  it  looks  it.  In  front  of  it  are  two  extensive 
courts  and  a  fine  mosque  flanked  by  two  lofty  minarets. 

Driving  on  past  the  Hosainabad  Clock  Tower  and 
Tank,  you  come  to  a  monumental  work  of  the  third 
King  of  Oudh — the  Hosainabad  Imambara,  or  "  Pal- 
ace of  Lights."  An  endowment  of  three  and  one-half 
million  rupees  was  left  by  the  King  to  keep  up  its 
splendour  and  perpetuate  acts  of  charity  in  his  name. 
And  when  you  have  seen  these  costly  specimens  of 
unfamiliar  architecture,  together  with  the  Chutter 
Munzil  Palaces  (now  The  United  Service  Club)  and 
the  new  Medical  College,  you  have  only  begun  to  see 
Lucknow.  The  fine  old  buildings  of  La  Martiniere 
College,  the  new  Canning  College  across  the  river, 
and  scores  of  others  unite  in  making  Lucknow  the 
prettiest  modern  city  in  India,  in  my  judgment.  In- 
cidentally, it  should  be  recalled  that  the  Methodist 
missionaries  here  maintain  (among  other  worthy  in- 
stitutions) a  college  for  girls  which  has  the  distinction 
of  being  the  first  institution  of  that  kind  in  all  Asia — 
and  it  is  American,  like  several  other  first  and  best 
things  in  the  Far  East. 

But  do  not  let  me  leave  you  under  the  impression 
that  this  beautiful  Indian  city  is  an  ideal  place  of 
residence.  The  fact  that  certain  glasses  of  ice-cold 
lemon  squash  are  as  vivid  in  memory  as  the  Imambara 
may  suggest  something  about  the  heat ! 


WEIGHING  WOOD  FOR  THE  BURNING 


"WHO'S  NEXT?"  ALONG  THE  GANGES 


XVII 
BENARES— " OLDEST  OF  EARTH'S  CITIES" 

AJD  now  let  me  again  sound  a  trumpet  before 
me,  as  the  Scribes  and  the  Pharisees  do.  As 
for  Mother  Ganges,  whose  waters  of  purifica- 
tion drop  from  the  brow  of  Shiva,  I  have  made  pil- 
grimage at  many  times  and  places.  I  have  fed  parched 
corn  to  the  monkeys  in  Durga's  Temple,  and  bought 
marigold  garlands  at  the  sign  of  the  Red  Stone  Bull. 
My  feet  have  trodden  the  exceedingly  narrow  way 
that  leads  past  the  Well  of  Knowledge  and  into  the 
Golden  Temple.  I  have  written  first-class  fiction 
stories  about  the  Well  of  Fate,  the  Shrine  of  Sitala, 
and  the  Debendra  Nath  Sanscrit  College,  one  of  which 
has  been  returned  to  me  by  an  editor  because  it  has 
a  flea  in  it.  And  I  have  bestowed  annas  upon  the  holy 
men  of  Shiva  and  of  Vishnu,  and  upon  those  other 
holy  men  who  brought  me  lemon  squash  at  the  hotel, 
who  caused  the  mongoose  and  the  cobra  to  engage  in 
deadly  combat,  and  who  made  the  mango-tree  to  grow 
before  my  eyes — as  I  stood  behind  the  screen  and 
watched  the  sap  rise. 

Surely  these  works  of  merit  have  brought  me  much 
nearer  to  the  last  cycle  of  my  transmigration! 

It  is  no  new  fashion  to  make  pilgrimage  to  the 
147 


148          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

Sacred  City.  So  long  ago  as  that  nebulous  period 
when  Cyrus  the  Persian  was  fighting  and  Jeremiah 
the  Prophet  was  preaching,  hither  came  on  pious 
errand  a  gentle  ascetic  whose  soul  was  weighed  down 
by  the  sorrows  of  his  race,  yet  upborne  by  the  in- 
spiration of  a  great  hope.  It  was  Gautama  Buddha, 
fresh  from  the  Enlightenment  that  followed  upon  the 
heels  of  his  Great  Renunciation.  And  full  a  century 
before  Mohammed  was  born,  the  virtues  of  Benares 
were  drawing  a  stream  of  pilgrims  from  far-away 
China.  Hither  came  also  Moghul  Emperors  like 
Humayun.  And  so  came  the  zealous  Asoka,  whose 
broken  pillar  is  yet  at  Sarnath.  And  so  have  come, 
and  are  coming,  and  will  continue  to  come,  rajahs  and 
maharajahs,  nawabs  and  gaekwars,  high-caste  and 
low-caste  and  no-caste,  from  every  land  where  the 
trident  of  Shiva  is  uplifted  from  an  altar  of  Brahman- 
ism — the  faith  of  two  hundred  millions.  At  the  rate 
of  10,000  a  month  they  come,  and  nowhere  else  flows 
continuously  such  a  large  and  picturesque  stream  of 
human  life. 

The  Ganges  River  is  holy  all  the  way  from  the 
Himalayas  to  the  Bay  of  Bengal — so  holy  that  the 
water  from  its  many  mouths  is  reluctant  to  mingle 
with  that  of  the  sea,  and  therefore  yellows  the  waves 
for  a  hundred  miles  off-shore.  But  that  holiness  is 
absolute  at  Benares,  even  though  it  appears  to  the 
unbeliever  as  a  stream  murky  with  the  silt  of  crum- 
bling banks,  reeking  with  the  stench  of  sewage,  and 
foul  with  the  carcasses  of  holy  cows  and  Ascetics. 

Learn  from  municipal  history  the  virtue  of  Ganges 


"  OLDEST  OF  EARTH'S  CITIES  "        149 

water.  Came  the  English  engineers  and  erected  a 
pumping-station,  with  a  vast  reservoir  and  settling 
tanks.  Benares  was  to  have  a  system  of  water- works, 
with  filtered  water  piped  to  its  doors.  Up  rose  the 
teachers  of  the  Law.  Only  the  out-castes  could  use 
the  water,  they  said,  for  the  pipes  had  been  made  by 
sahibs  and  laid  by  Mohammedans,  and  this  spells  pol- 
lution. Out  of  the  confusion  rose  up  a  sahib  with  a 
head  on  his  shoulders,  and  he  spake  on  this  wise : 

"  The  water  of  the  Sacred  River  is  absolute  in  its 
purifying  power — is  it  not  so?  "  he  asked. 

"  Quite  so,"  answered  the  Doctors  of  the  Law. 

"  Then,  in  passing  through  the  pipes,  it  purifies 
them  and  makes  it  impossible  that  a  believer  should 
have  his  caste  polluted — is  it  not  so?  " 

A  great  light  illumined  the  teachers  of  the  Law  and 
they  issued  a  decree  that  all  Benares  might  drink  from 
the  sahibs'  pipes.  And  it  was  so. 

The  Brahmin's  philosophy  teaches  that  there  are 
something  like  eight  million  cycles  through  which  a 
soul  may  be  required  to  pass  before  re-entering  into 
the  Absolute — and  it  is  a  dismal  outlook  to  the  man 
who  realizes  that  he  may  make  some  slip  and  have  to 
begin  all  over  again.  He  is  like  that  unhappy  frog 
in  your  old  arithmetic — the  one  who  climbed  up  three 
feet  every  day  and  fell  back  four  feet  every  night. 
But  residence  in  Benares  acts  like  an  insurance  policy. 
Whoever  dies  within  the  area  bounded  by  the  Ganges 
on  the  east,  the  Panch-Kosi  Road  on  the  west,  and  the 
Barna  and  Asi  tributaries  on  the  north  and  south,  goes 
direct  to  Shiva's  Himalayan  paradise.  And  this  re- 


150         TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

markable  amnesty  has  in  it  the  wideness  of  the  sea, 
for  even  the  souls  of  Christians  and  Mohammedans 
share  its  benefits.  If  the  rest  of  the  world  did  but 
believe  this,  how  the  prices  of  residence  sites  in 
Benares  would  soar! 

But  there  is  a  remarkable  phenomenon.  Only  the 
Benares  shore  is  sanctified;  the  soul  of  him  who  dies 
on  the  opposite  bank  goes  into  the  body  of  a  donkey, 
unless  he  make  pilgrimage  as  hereinafter  set  forth. 
As  a  consequence,  all  that  shore  is  a  barren  waste, 
except  nigh  unto  the  Palace  of  the  Maharajah  farther 
upstream. 

Let  us  stand  apart  for  a  moment,  here  at  the  central 
ghat,  and  take  one  fleeting  glance  down  the  vista  of 
human  history.  This  great  throng  of  pilgrims,  with 
its  sources  more  distant  than  that  of  the  Ganges  itself, 
has  been  pouring  like  a  waterfall  down  these  steps 
for  twenty  centuries — how  much  longer  no  man  may 
say.  It  is  Mr.  Kipling  who  calls  Benares  "  oldest  of 
earth's  cities."  Damascus,  Athens,  and  Bagdad  may 
dispute  the  claim.  Nobody  knows;  the  birth-certifi- 
cates have  all  been  lost. 

This  is  no  ordinary  crowd  of  bathers.  Note  the 
stillness  of  the  throng,  the  serious  look  on  the  faces. 
They  have  come  weary  miles  to  have  great  burdens 
lifted  from  their  souls,  and  the  sight  of  the  Ganges 
is  a  token  of  deliverance.  And  this  mass  of  dark- 
skinned  peoples  before  us — most  of  them  are  our 
brothers  in  blood.  Something  like  thirty  centuries 
agone  (the  date  is  less  consequential  than  the  fact), 


"  OLDEST  OF  EARTH'S  CITIES  "        151 

their  ancestors  and  ours  were  one  on  the  high  table- 
lands of  western  Asia.  The  shifting  time  came;  our 
fathers  turned  to  the  west;  theirs  turned  to  the  east. 
To-day  a  great  gulf  intervenes.  But — 

"  For  those  who  kneel  beside  us, 

At  altars  not  Thine  Own, 
Who  lack  the  lights  that  guide  us — 
Lord,  let  their   faith  atone ! " 

The  Bengali  is  here  in  great  numbers,  as  the  pre- 
ponderance of  white  costumes  attests;  the  delicate 
shades  of  pink  and  light  yellow  and  light  blue  recall 
the  colour-scheme  up  Delhi  way;  the  coarser  fabrics 
here  and  there  are  from  the  crude  looms  of  the  north- 
ern hills;  the  flashes  of  indigo  and  orange  and  deep 
red  are  from  the  south  country. 

But  where  is  the  tall-turbaned  Sikh,  with  beard 
like  a  schoolgirl's  "  rat "  ?  Answer :  the  Sikh  has  a 
religion  of  his  own,  and  to  him  the  Ganges  is  merely 
a  river.  And  where  is  the  little  Gurkha,  with  the 
features  of  a  Japanese  and  the  disposition  of  an 
Irishman  ?  The  Gurkha  is  a  Buddhist.  And  where  is 
all  that  conglomeration  of  Punjabis,  Rajputanas, 
Pathans,  Bhutians,  and  other  wild  men  who  roam 
northern  India  from  Darjeeling  to  the  Khyber  Pass? 

Working  our  way  to  the  water's  edge,  we  clamber 
up  to  the  roof  of  a  Seeing-Ganges  boat.  We  are  in  the 
centre  of  an  amphitheatre  that  extends  for  perhaps  a 
mile  on  either  side.  Here  are  forty-seven  ghats  (a 
ghat  is  a  descent)  with  stone  stairways,  for  the  Ganges 
is  a  fearful  stream  when  it  is  in  flood. 


152          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

It  is  a  slovenly  scene  when  you  get  close  to  it.  The 
large  and  ragged  umbrellas  made  of  matting — under 
every  one  of  which  you  will  find  a  fat  Brahmin — and 
the  rude  shelter-places  near  the  water  make  the  river- 
front look  like  a  series  of  cattle-sheds.  It  is  a  scene 
unworthy  of  the  religious  capital  of  a  wealthy  priest- 
hood that  has  a  lead-pipe  monopoly  over  twice  a  hun- 
dred million  people. 

Of  the  forty-seven  ghats,  the  most  interesting  are 
those  that  are  the  most  interesting  when  you  are  look- 
ing at  them.  I  can  get  along  in  life  fairly  well  with 
the  following  eight : 

(1)  Dasasamehd,  the  central  ghat,  where  the  carriages  stop. 
It  is  one  of  the  Five  Places  of  Pilgrimage. 

(2)  Sitala,  the   Small-Pox  ghat,  just  above  it.     Those   who 
have  recovered  may  bathe  here;  and  those  who  wish  to  avoid 
the  disease  may  rub  their  fingers  over  the  wet  goddess  and  apply 
them   to   forehead   and  eyes.     Wiser  devotees  go  through  the 
ritual  of  the  Vaccine  Depot  also. 

(3)  Man  Mandhil,  just  downstream  from  Dasasamehd.    It  is 
in  front  of  the  Observatory  of  Raja  Man  Singh,  which  is  about 
three  centuries  old. 

(4)  Nepali  has  behind  it  a  small  temple  with  ancient  wood 
carvings,  "  for  men  only." 

(5)  Manikarnika  is  the  holiest  of  all.     This  is  the  starting- 
point  and  the  terminus  of  the  Great  Pilgrimage,  and  here  the 
happy  pilgrim  bathes  after  it  is  all  over. 

(6)  Scindia,  by  the  ruins  of  a  fallen  temple,  is  the  rendezvous 
of  the  ash-smeared  Saddhus. 

(7)  Panchganga,  below  Aurungzebe's  Mosque,  is  another  of 
the  Five  Places. 

(8)  Jhalsai,  the  Burning  Ghat. 

Ramnaggar,  on  the  opposite  shore,  upstream,  is  the  residence 
of  the  Maharajah.  There  are  a  tiger,  some  oil-paintings,  a  gar- 
den, and  a  temple.  For  those  who  did  not  visit  it,  life  still 
has  some  attractiveness.  The  Ramnaggar  pilgrimage  once  a 


"  OLDEST  OF  EARTH'S  CITIES  "        153 

year  is  the  antidote  against  punishment  for  dying  on  that  side 
of  the  Ganges.  As  a  double  precaution,  many  of  the  Benares 
people  cross  over  and  join  in  this  pious  promenade. 

With  the  exception  of  Jhalsai,  all  of  these  are  bath- 
ing ghats,  but  bathing  is  a  religious  ceremony  and  a 
laundry  exercise  rather  than  a  sport.  Once  in  a  while 
you  may  see  a  boy  or  a  man  swimming  twenty  feet 
from  the  shore,  but  most  of  the  pilgrims  merely  stand 
up  in  the  water  and  perform  their  ablutions.  It  is 
all  done  decently  and  in  order.  Most  of  the  women 
bathe  apart,  but  the  woman  of  India  is  an  exceedingly 
modest  creature  and  makes  her  shifts  of  raiment  with 
marvellous  skill. 

The  Burning  Ghat  is,  of  course,  the  chief  point  of 
interest  in  Benares.  It  has  been  so  continuously  de- 
scribed since  the  first  scribbler  began  to  tell  the  story 
of  the  sacred  city  that  I  may  be  excused  from  enter- 
ing into  the  details  now.  Suffice  it  to  say,  from  the 
standpoint  of  one  who  has  lingered  all  about  the 
fires,  that  it  is  less  emotional  and  less  harrowing  than 
a  funeral  in  any  of  the  Christian  lands.  A  body 
swathed  in  white  or  red,  according  to  sex,  and  borne 
down  the  steps  upon  a  framework  of  bamboo  that 
rests  upon  the  shoulders  of  the  kinsmen;  a  little  hag- 
gling with  the  sellers  of  wood;  a  log-heap  built  by  a 
low-caste  Dom,  with  the  body  laid  thereon  and  cov- 
ered with  other  sticks;  a  torch  applied  by  the  nearest 
of  kin — that  is  all.  The  pyre  burns  with  a  crackling 
noise  and  without  overmuch  smoke.  Within  an  hour 
or  two,  nothing  remains  but  a  little  heap  of  ashes 
and  charred  wood.  These  are  raked  into  the  river 


154,          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

and  the  spot  is  ready  for  the  next  comer.  There  are 
no  stifling  odours,  no  lamentations  from  the  group  of 
mourners  above — and  no  undertakers  in  funereal  black. 

Whenever  I  drink  red  lemonade  or  munch  pea- 
nuts beneath  the  canvas  of  the  Big  Show,  I  confess 
that  it  is  the  clowns  who  always  interest  me  the  most. 
And  so  it  was  at  the  Benares  show.  The  ash-smeared 
fakirs  along  the  Ganges  still  remain  the  chief  features 
in  memory's  panorama. 

The  first  of  the  Benares  brotherhood  to  solicit  my 
unblessed  coin  did  not  have  an  appearance  of  genuine- 
ness, for  he  wore  more  clothes  than  ashes.  He  was 
a  genial  beggar  and  showed  the  liveliest  interest  in  the 
ritual  of  the  kodak.  I  very  cheerfully  contributed  four 
annas  to  the  General  Fund,  for  in  getting  him  en- 
graved upon  a  film  I  included  a  picturesque  group  of 
children  whose  beautiful  pose  would  have  vanished  if 
they  had  not  been  tickled  at  what  was  happening  to 
the  saddhu. 

I  shall  always  remember  the  second  as  "  The  Ghost 
of  the  Black  Death."  He  was  more  like  a  spectre 
than  anything  that  I  have  ever  seen  in  a  sunlight  so 
glaring  as  that  of  the  Ganges.  Naked  except  for  his 
loincloth,  he  was  so  emaciated  that  his  ribs  made  him 
look  like  an  animated  washboard.  His  grey  hair  and 
beard  were  uncombed  and  matted,  and  the  coating  of 
ashes  completed  the  aspect  of  ghastliness. 

Then  came  along  "  The  Heavenly  Twins  " — two 
husky  saints  who  were  anything  but  emaciated.  They 
were  as  tall  as  Sikhs,  but  no  Sikh  ever  had  such  biceps 
and  calves  as  they.  They  also  were  genial  and  avari- 


"  THE  LAST  INCARNATION 


THE  END  OF  ANOTHER  CYCLE 


"  OLDEST  OF  EARTH'S  CITIES  "        155 

cious;  I  would  give  many  annas  to  listen  to  their 
stories  of  life  on  Indian  highways,  had  I  a  knowledge 
of  the  vernacular. 

In  a  little  belfry-like  shrine  at  the  head  of  one  of 
the  stairways  is  a  member  of  the  fraternity  whom 
I  regard  as  a  genius.  Instead  of  wandering  about  the 
Empire  soliciting  alms,  he  has  hit  upon  the  scheme 
of  having  the  alms  come  to  him.  It  was  said  that 
he  had  been  there  for  seventeen  years,  day  and  night; 
I  will  not  give  a  certificate  to  that  effect.  But  I  will 
certify  that  he  gets  the  coin  of  the  pilgrim. 

Another  picturesque  gentleman  of  wondrous  sanc- 
tity sits  upon  a  ledge  facing  the  Red  Stone  Bull,  near 
the  Well  of  Knowledge.  He  is  about  forty,  with  scant 
beard  and  hair  done  up  in  a  Psyche  knot.  He  sits 
cross-legged  like  a  plaster  god,  with  a  cloth  draped 
over  the  shoulder  and  a  rosary  about  his  neck.  His 
face  is  coated  with  a  greyish  ash  that  makes  him 
appear  as  a  corpse  seated  upright — and  he  never 
moves.  I  have  tried  to  catch  him  batting  an  eyelash, 
but  never  succeeded. 

Down  by  the  Ghat  of  Burning,  whose  smoke  is  now 
and  then  wafted  across  his  placid  face,  is  "  The  Last 
Incarnation."  He  sits  upon  a  lofty  pedestal,  his  body 
inclined  slightly  backward  and  supported  upon  rigid 
arms,  his  face  toward  the  sacred  river  and  unshielded 
from  the  glare  of  the  sun.  He  is  so  coated  with  the 
greasy  mixture  of  ashes  that  he  and  the  pedestal 
seem  to  be  one  piece  of  statuary.  He  has  renounced 
all  that  is  earthly  and  sits  in  silent  contemplation,  wait- 
ing to  be  freed  from  "  the  Wheel  of  Things."  He 


156          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

has  reached  the  topmost  round  of  the  ladder  of  human 
attainment — his  last  incarnation. 

There  is  another  member  of  this  fraternity  whose 
fame  is  world-wide,  but  I  fear  that  he  is  a  four-flusher. 
He  sits  upon  a  bed  of  spikes  near  the  entrance  to 
Aurungzebe's  mosque.  It  is  rumoured  that  this  can- 
didate for  divine  honours  lives  comfortably  with  a 
young  wife  and  indulges  a  taste  for  a  strong  drink 
called  bhang.  Let  us  hope  that  it  is  not  true,  and 
that  the  spikes  are  as  sharp  as  they  are  supposed  to  be. 

The  tramp  who  has  been  prodded  by  a  policeman's 
club  or  kicked  down  the  kitchen  steps  or  chased  by 
the  farmer's  dog  has  missed  the  chance  of  ages  by 
not  becoming  a  Hindu  holy  man.  Five  millions  of 
these  holy  beggars  roam  over  India  and  are  venerated 
instead  of  being  kicked.  The  wandering  saint  carries 
with  him  a  stock  of  blessings  as  he  goes — carries  also 
an  assortment  of  vermin  and  now  and  then  a  young 
and  athletic  germ  of  small-pox  or  plague.  Assuming 
that  each  collects  on  an  average  one  dollar  a  month 
in  food  and  coin,  it  costs  the  working  people  of  India 
about  sixty  million  dollars  a  year  to  support  these 
rascals — though,  of  course,  there  must  be  many  con- 
scientious and  devout  ascetics  among  them. 

These  are  the  saddhus.  There  is  a  yet  more  exalted 
fraternity  of  the  Brahmin  caste  known  as  the  San- 
nyasis.  Entrance  thereto  is  rigidly  mapped  out  but 
few  there  be  that  find  it.  But  anybody,  it  seems, 
may  become  a  saddhu.  To  a  low-caste  man,  this  life 
of  sanctity  must  be  a  source  of  holy  joy.  Last  year, 
perhaps,  a  high-caste  man  yelled  at  him  as  though  he 


V 


*  I       * 


«  OLDEST  OF  EARTH'S  CITIES  "        157 

were  a  dog,  and  he  hopped  out  of  the  path  lest  his 
shadow  should  defile  his  high-caste  brother.  Now, 
with  his  regalia  of  ashes  upon  him,  that  high-caste 
gentleman  begs  his  blessing! 

All  the  temples  that  we  visited — Golden,  Monkey, 
Annapurna,  and  as  far  down  the  list  of  thousands 
as  we  could  go — were  too  filthy  for  the  housing  of 
a  respectable  milk-cow,  for  the  British  Government 
interferes  little  with  the  order  of  life  in  Benares.  Sir 
Frederick  Treves,  who  calls  Benares  "  The  City  of 
Trampled  Flowers,"  on  account  of  the  marigolds  and 
jasmines  that  are  everywhere  underfoot,  has  one  strik- 
ing paragraph  about  these  holy  shrines : 

"  There  is  to  be  found  in  Benares  a  refuge  from  every  sorrow, 
a  shelter  from  every  calamity,  a  promise  for  every  hope.  There 
are  a  well  in  the  city  which  can  ward  off  fever,  a  shrine  which 
will  protect  from  snake  bites,  a  goddess  who  can  cure  swelled 
hands  and  feet,  a  ghat  which  is  all-potent  against  small-pox,  and 
a  temple  where  plain  women  can  pray  for  handsome  sons.  .  .  . 
There  is  nothing  worth  praying  for  in  this  world  or  the  next 
that  cannot  be  prayed  for  in  Benares  at  an  altar  mindful  of  the 
particular  supplication." 

One  word  to  those  who  follow  after  us,  along  the 
pilgrim's  way.  Have  somebody  point  out  the  Mani- 
karnika  Well  and  the  Well  of  Fate,  as  well  as  the 
Well  of  Knowledge.  And  by  all  means  see  that  you 
are  shown  the  Panch-Kosi  Road,  which  is  the  long 
highway  of  pilgrimage  that  winds  about  the  city. 

And  let  nothing  keep  you  from  making  the  pil- 
grimage to  Sarnath.  It  is  a  hot  and  dusty  drive  of 
four  miles,  and  a  dreary  place  when  you  arrive.  But 
it  is  something  to  say  in  after  years  that  you  have 


158          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

stood  at  the  place  where  Buddha  first  began  to  preach 
and  to  "  turn  the  Wheel  of  the  Law."  And  here  is 
the  Jain  Temple  that  is  the  original  "  Temple  of  the 
Tirthankers  "  in  the  story  of  "  Kim." 

Benares  is  the  place  where  the  management  of  the 
cruise  gave  more  for  the  money  than  anywhere  else 
around  the  world.  Aside  from  all  the  holy  and  the 
unholy  sights,  there  was  the  delectable  afternoon  tea 
on  the  hotel  lawn,  with  the  regimental  band  blowing 
itself,  the  military  camels  groaning  like  stuck  pigs,  and 
the  Maharajah's  fine  elephants  prancing  around  with 
you  on  top  of  them !  And  then  Professor  Bux ! 

Do  you  remember  the  Professor — the  smooth-faced 
young  Mohammedan  with  the  quizzical  smile  who  sat 
there  on  the  grass,  in  broad  daylight,  and  did  such 
clever  things  with  his  hands  that  you  wondered  if 
it  were  hypnotism?  It  is  too  long  a  story  to  tell 
here,  but  I  wrill  match  him  as  a  daylight  performer 
against  the  cleverest  juggler  on  any  stage.  And  when 
he  has  convinced  you  that  some  particular  trick  is 
accomplished  only  through  mesmerism,  hand  him  a 
rupee  and  he  will  take  you  aside  and  show  you  how 
it  is  done  by  a  simple  twist  of  the  wrist!  Professor 
Bux  is  a  great  chap  and  has  performed  on  the  Island 
of  Manhattan.  He  therefore  performs  in  the  English 
language  also,  as  witnesseth  this  from  his  handbill : 

"  Professor  Amir  Bux,  King  of  Card  Tricks,  beg  to  announce 
to  the  public  that  his  newly  invented  magical  play  is  so  nicely 
got  up  that  it  has  admired  by  the  Western  Magician  who  have 
acquired  reputation  and  have  talked  all  over  the  world  very 
highly." 


CALCUTTA 

f 


XVIII 
"THE  CITY  OF  DREADFUL  NIGHT" 

ET  us  not  mourn  and  refuse  to  be  comforted  now 
that  the  capital  of  India  has  been  transferred 
from  the  Hooghly  to  the  Jumna.     Doubtless 
the  real-estate  owners  and  the  merchants  of  Calcutta 
will  attend  to  the  matter  of  lamentation.     It  is  only 
on  Job  Charnock's  account  that  I  regret  the  departing 
glory.    A  city  that  hews  unto  itself  all  sorts  of  statues 
of  Kings  and  Lords  and  Sirs,  and  yet  has  no  statue 
of  Job,  ought  to  lose  its  chief  graft. 

Job  was  an  agent  of  the  British  East  India  Company 
and  a  man  with  the  bark  on.  He  hung  up  the  flag 
over  a  little  cluster  of  mean  huts  called  Kalighat  (in 
honour  of  the  bloodthirsty  goddess  Kali)  and  the 
village  grew  into  a  town  and  the  name  grew  into 
Calcutta.  There  is  a  romance  about  Mrs.  Charnock, 
too.  She  met  the  founder  of  Calcutta  rather  pic- 
turesquely. Her  husband,  a  Hindu  nabob  of  some 
kind,  carelessly  died  and  it  was  up  to  her  to  get  on 
the  suttee  stone  like  a  good  Bengali  wife  and  go  along 
with  him.  Job  came  to  have  a  look  at  the  ceremony 
and  precipitately  fell  in  love  with  her  looks.  Being 
something  of  a  nabob  himself,  he  spake  a  few  well- 
chosen  words  to  his  men  and  they  picked  up  the 

159 


160          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

bereaved  lady  and  carried  her  away  to  Job's  bungalow. 
And  they  lived  happily  ever  afterward.  A  man  with 
a  nerve  like  that  founded  Calcutta,  as  might  be  ex- 
pected. 

This  city  of  more  than  a  million  people  is  the  one 
which  Mr.  Kipling,  in  his  chapters  on  "  The  City  of 
Dreadful  Night,"  grilled  to  a  rich  brown  crisp,  and 
that  did  Calcutta  a  lot  of  good.  It  seems  to  be 
fashionable  for  every  man  who  writes  about  it  to 
describe  the  insufferable  odour  of  the  place,  but  I 
frankly  confess  that  I  missed  that,  although  I  have 
been  in  Calcutta  four  times.  Parts  of  it  make  a  beauti- 
ful modern  city  and  other  parts  are  almost  Hinduesque 
enough  to  be  interesting,  especially  at  night.  But 
most  of  my  recollections  of  the  Imperial  City  are 
commonplace  or  worse. 

Take  the  big  hotel  there  facing  the  Maidan.  It  is 
a  beautiful  hotel  and  its  owner  is  a  Parsee  gentleman, 
of  wealth,  education,  and  culture.  Incidentally,  he 
has  one  of  the  finest  collections  of  rare  china  in  the 
East.  But  the  assembled  brains  of  the  sub-manage- 
ment, from  the  men  at  the  desk  to  the  room-boy, 
would  not  be  sufficient  to  run  a  livery-stable  in 
an  American  town  with  a  population  of  thirty-five 
persons. 

Take  the  branch  post-office  just  back  of  the  hotel. 
I  went  around  to  register  three  letters  with  the  babus 
running  the  institution.  Being  a  sahib,  I  took  prece- 
dence of  a  long  line  of  natives,  somewhat  to  my  sur- 
prise. The  first  babu  weighed  my  letters  carefully 
(and  very  slowly)  and  marked  the  postage  required 


GLOBE-TROTTERS  UNDER  THE  BANYAN  TREE 


SOOTHSAYER    PEERING    INTO    FRAWLEY'S    PAST 


for  each.  Then  I  went  to  another  babu  and  bought 
the  postage  stamps.  He  was  exquisitely  considerate 
and  placed  the  various  stamps  on  each  letter  lest  I 
should  mix  them  up  in  the  routine  of  licking  them. 
When  all  were  properly  affixed,  I  was  escorted  to 
a  third  babu  who  was  to  do  the  actual  work  of  reg- 
istration. He  placed  each  again  on  the  scales — and 
not  one  of  them  had  the  correct  amount  of  postage! 
I  finally  saw  the  transaction  reach  the  completed  stage, 
but  had  meanwhile  missed  my  luncheon. 

Those  who  come  to  Calcutta  from  Ceylon  or  Ran- 
goon, instead  of  from  Benares,  make  their  grand 
entree  into  Bengal  at  Diamond  Harbour,  forty  miles 
down  the  Hooghly.  The  Cleveland  is  so  large  that  if 
it  should  try  to  go  up  the  river,  like  the  little  P.  &  O. 
boats,  it  might  not  get  down  again.  That  Hooghly 
is  a  stream  with  a  very  eccentric  disposition.  To-day 
its  channel  is  over  here;  to-morrow  it  has  moved 
over  near  the  other  bank  and  left  a  sand-bar  as  a 
reminder.  And  it  has  a  swiftly  rushing  current  that 
makes  timid  folks  shudder  as  they  step  from  the 
tender  to  the  gang-plank  or  vice  versa.  The  pilot  is 
responsible  for  the  information  that  this  is  the  only 
port  in  the  world  where  a  vessel  of  the  British  Navy 
is  forced  by  regulation  to  turn  the  navigation  over 
to  a  pilot.  The  result  is  that  the  Bengal  Pilot  Service, 
dating  back  to  the  East  India  days,  is  an  institution 
that  confers  distinction  upon  its  men.  Our  pilot  came 
aboard  with  his  man-servant,  if  you  please! 

Diamond  Harbour  is  not  a  city,  nor  is  it  a  harbour. 
It  is  merely  an  anchorage  in  the  muddy  Hooghly, 


162          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

opposite  a  concealed  fort  and  an  unconcealed  custom- 
house. There  are  a  few  palms  sticking  up  out  of 
a  bare  plain  and  always  a  platoon  of  men  in  khaki 
scattered  around.  The  scene  was  wonderfully  pic- 
turesque on  the  Westward  cruise,  as  we  arrived  late 
in  the  afternoon,  with  a  storm  brewing.  In  our 
honour  a  double  rainbow  was  hung  out,  perfect  in  all 
its  arched  extent. 

Landing  is  made  by  tender  and  a  sort  of  pontoon 
bridge,  the  special  train  being  backed  down  from  the 
station  above.  It  is  a  two-hours'  ride  to  Calcutta, 
across  the  level  plain  of  Bengal.  Mud  villages  with 
thatched  roofs,  cattle  with  birds  perched  on  their 
shoulders,  naked  children  with  eyes  that  shine  like 
beads,  rice-fields  and  cocoanuts — these  are  the  main 
characteristics. 

The  most  interesting  thing  to  do  in  Calcutta  is  what 
very  few  travellers  ever  do.  Drive  past  Government 
House  (interesting  because  it  is  where  Lord  and  Lady 
Curzon  once  reigned)  and  on  to  the  banks  of  the 
Hooghly.  Dismiss  your  carriage  and  walk  for  two 
hours  along  the  bank  of  the  stream,  which  is  choked 
with  shipping  all  the  way  to  the  Hooghly  Bridge. 
There  is  more  good  material  for  a  kodak  in  that 
walk  than  in  all  the  drives  that  the  rest  of  the  party 
will  take  during  their  stay.  And  you  will  see  all 
sorts  of  unusual  sights,  such  as  the  loading  of  a  baby 
elephant,  the  shoeing  of  a  bullock,  the  cremation  of 
a  plague  victim,  or  a  bale  of  hay  walking  along  with 
three  men's  heads  underneath  it. 

The  Black  Hole  must  not  be  missed,  of  course. 


"  THE  CITY  OF  DREADFUL  NIGHT  '     163 

Lord  Curzon  has  had  it  all  fixed  up  and  labelled  so 
that  even  the  guide  cannot  deceive  you.  But  you  will 
not  see  a  hole — merely  a  tablet  and  a  marble  pavement 
that  shows  you  how  small  was  the  place  into  which 
146  human  beings  were  thrown  on  a  June  night  in 
1756  and  from  which  only  twenty-three  were  liber- 
ated the  next  morning. 

Of  temples  there  are  two — the  garish  temple  of 
the  Jains,  and  the  Kalighat  Temple  with  its  animal 
sacrifices  and  its  mob  of  beggars.  The  Burning  Ghat 
is  on  the  programme  but  there  may  be  no  cremation 
in  progress  at  the  moment  of  your  visit  to  the  Ganges. 

There  is  a  long  and  beautiful  drive  to  the  Botanical 
Gardens,  and  that  is  one  of  the  features  of  the  Cal- 
cutta exhibit.  It  is  a  place  surpassingly  beautiful  and, 
incidentally,  it  contains  the  largest  banyan  tree  in  the 
world.  It  is  140  years  old,  measures  fifty-one  feet 
in  circumference  at  a  height  of  five  feet,  has  a  cir- 
cumference of  1,000  feet  at  the  crown  of  foliage, 
and  reaches  a  height  of  eighty-five  feet.  The  aerial 
roots  are  trees  themselves — and  there  are  562  of  these 
that  have  actually  rooted.  It  is  therefore  a  shrub  of 
monumental  proportions. 

There  is  a  strong  branch  of  the  Young  Men's  Chris- 
tian Association  in  Calcutta  and  it  has  the  pleasing 
habit  of  providing  something  attractive  for  the  travel- 
ler to  see  and  do.  On  our  last  visit,  there  was  an 
exhibition  of  the  arts  and  crafts  of  India  (the  ex- 
hibits being  for  sale  at  reasonable  prices),  with  such 
divertisements  as  a  dance  by  soldiers  of  the  "  Black 
Watch,"  juggling  by  a  native  fakir,  and  the  singing 


164          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

of  "  Rosary  "  by  a  Bengali  girl  from  one  of  the  mis- 
sion schools.  This,  I  believe,  was  the  only  sort  of 
attention  that  Calcutta  paid  to  five  hundred  travellers, 
other  than  that  grudgingly  bestowed  on  us  by  various 
persons  who  were  being  much  overpaid  for  their 
services. 

One  of  the  pleasant  facts  about  Calcutta  is  that  you 
can  kill  a  lot  of  time  by  trying  to  find  your  room 
when  you  return  to  the  hotel.  It,  like  the  city,  has 
apparently  been  built  in  sections  and  the  sequence  of 
room-numbers  arranged  chronologically.  Let  us  say, 
for  example,  that  you  have  room  No.  817  and  you 
try  to  find  it  for  yourself.  The  elevator  "  boy  "  puts 
you  out  on  a  floor  whose  numbers  seem  to  be  in  the 
Soo's  and  you  explore  several  galleries  until  you  come 
to  8 1 6.  You  go  confidently  to  the  next  room  and 
discover,  as  you  insert  your  key,  that  it  is  No.  429. 
Half  an  hour  later,  when  you  have  exhausted  your 
energy  and  vocabulary,  you  descend  to  the  first  floor 
and  get  a  guide.  He  takes  you  to  another  wing  of 
the  building,  one  or  two  floors  above  or  below  No.  816 
— and  there,  sure  enough!  is  No.  817.  But  I  dare 
you  to  find  it  the  next  time !  They  have  a  great  sys- 
tem of  business  in  Calcutta.  I  do  not  understand  it, 
but  I  am  sure  it  is  great. 


DARJEELING 


XIX 
ON  "THE  ROOF  OF  THE  WORLD" 

"  And  he  dreamed,  and  behold  a  ladder  set  up  on  the  earth,  and 
the  top  of  it  reached  to  heaven  ;  and  behold  the  angels  of  God  as- 
cending and  descending  on  it." 

DARJEELING'S  elevation  is  much  below  that 
of  heaven — though   it   is  not   far   from  the 
heaven  of  the  Brahmins;  and  not  all  of  those 
who  ascended  and  descended  the  Mountain  Railway 
had  sprouted  even  pin-feathers  on  their  wings,   for 
many  were  not  of  the  Across-India  parties.    But  that 
railroad  is  more  like  Jacob's  Ladder  than  anything 
else  I  can  think  of. 

Two  British  officials  discovered  it  eighty-five  years 
ago,  and  it  felt  like  heaven  to  them,  after  sweltering 
in  the  steaming  lowlands  of  Bengal.  True,  it  was 
on  the  wrong  side  of  the  boundary-line,  but  His 
Majesty's  forces  in  India  are  much  experienced  in 
rectifying  geographical  errors  of  that  kind.  And  so 
it  has  come  to  pass  that  an  insignificant  Sikkim  town 
at  the  Pass  to  Thibet  has  evolved  into  another  Simla 
for  officers  and  civilians  doomed  to  work  out  their 
servitude  in  the  purgatory  along  the  Hooghly.  We 
went  to  Darjeeling  to  see  the  snows;  but  they  climb 

165 


166         TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

the  ladder  in  the  hope  of  getting  a  little  ginger  back 
into  their  impoverished  blood. 

Three  hundred  miles  north  of  Calcutta,  it  is  in  a 
land  of  everlasting  snows.  Instead  of  mopping  your 
fevered  brow  with  a  towel  and  calling  pathetically  for 
iced  lemonade,  you  now  shiver  under  your  overcoat 
and  beg  for  the  coolie  with  the  hot  tea. 

On  the  Eastward  Cruise,  the  Across-India  trotters 
left  Calcutta  in  the  afternoon  of  Thanksgiving  Day, 
in  a  prosaic  train  of  day-coaches  that  looked  like 
street-cars  mounted  on  high  wheels.  Out  from  the 
city  gates  and  on  through  the  "  heat-rotted  jungle 
hollows  "  and  northward  still  through  an  endless  suc- 
cession of  rice-paddies,  we  sped  along  until  nightfall. 
Then  we  drew  up  at  a  landing  on  the  bank  of  the 
Ganges  and  saw  a  big  double-decked  ferry-boat  on 
the  sacred  river. 

On  the  well-lighted  upper  deck  of  the  steamer  we 
caught  a  glimpse  of  white  tablecloths  and  white-uni- 
formed waiters.  And  so  it  was  that  we  ate  our 
Thanksgiving  dinner  on  the  Ganges,  with  real  turkey 
ordered  by  telegraph  from  the  city  of  the  Taj.  On 
the  Westward  Cruise,  we  left  Calcutta  in  a  fine  train 
of  compartment  cars — and  in  the  fewest  clothes  pos- 
sible, for  the  temperature  was  92  degrees  in  the  shade, 
even  when  cooled  by  the  flight  of  a  fine  train. 

We  had  been  speeding  across  the  plain  of  Bengal 
with  our  eyes  fixed  upon  a  brilliant  sunset,  whose 
peculiar  golden  glow  flooded  a  level  landscape  that 
was  emerald  with  its  foliage  except  when  broken  by 
the  sepia  of  a  cluster  of  mud-huts  or  the  sienna  of 


ON  "  THE  ROOF  OF  THE  WORLD  "      167 

a  village.  Suddenly  the  glow  faded  and  the  emerald 
darkened  into  a  bottle-green.  The  cocoanut  palms 
began  to  tremble,  then  to  sway;  in  a  few  minutes 
every  tree  on  the  landscape  was  silhouetted  against 
the  sky  with  bowed  head,  and  was  thus  held  by  the 
gale  fixed  in  the  posture  of  a  worshipping  sunflower. 
Vivid  zigzags  of  lightning  were  followed  by  a  torrent 
of  rain-drops  that  hit  the  window-panes  like  hail- 
stones; and  then  both  lightning  and  rain  came  in 
sheets  for  half  an  hour.  Then  it  slackened  and  the 
arc-lights  of  the  steamer  landing  on  the  Ganges  shone 
out  of  the  inky  blackness. 

From  this  landing,  diagonally  across  the  river,  the 
distance  is  at  least  a  dozen  miles;  and  it  is  a  picturesque 
crossing  at  night.  On  each  side  of  the  lower  deck 
stands  a  native,  sounding  the  depth  of  the  treacherous 
stream.  As  each  calls  out  the  figures,  another  native 
on  the  top  deck  picks  up  the  conversation  and  passes 
it  along  to  the  captain.  And  all  the  while  a  powerful 
searchlight  is  playing  upon  the  muddy  water  ahead. 
There  is  just  time  to  gulp  down  the  dessert  before 
bumping  into  Sara  Ghat.  (The  longest  bridge  in 
India  is  now  being  constructed  here.  It  is  to  cost  about 
$10,000,000.) 

I  like  Sara,  very  much.  There  is  always  a  beauti- 
ful scramble  over  the  luggage  there,  for  the  train  of 
sleeping-cars  is  in  a  hurry  to  leave  and  the  Hindu 
porters  get  excited.  And  a  bunch  of  Hindus  figu- 
ratively standing  on  their  heads  is  no  dull  spectacle. 
Nothing  happens  during  the  night  except  broken  sleep, 
but  I  have  pleasant  recollections  of  the  call  of  a  bird 


168          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

at  5  A.  M.  which  says  "  Sweet  sugar!  "  with  great  dis- 
tinctness. (Many  a  time  in  West  Africa  have  I  lis- 
tened to  its  beautiful  note.)  And  there  was  a  round 
red  sun  on  the  horizon,  and  men  with  dark  heads  and 
shins  sticking  out  from  white  nightshirts  and  plough- 
ing with  white  oxen — and  "  the  long  line  of  the 
Himalayas,  flushed  in  morning  gold."  Now  we  break- 
fast in  Siliguri  station  and  transfer  to  Jacob's  Ladder. 

Here  the  real  fun  begins.  The  railroad  is  only  two 
feet  wide  and  it  is  necessary  to  split  the  train  into 
two  sections  in  order  to  climb  it.  The  sight  of  the 
forward  section  creeping  slowly  up  the  hill  is  like 
that  of  a  hod-carrier  going  up  a  ladder  with  a  load 
of  bricks.  The  little  coaches  are  as  comfortable  as 
a  street-car,  however,  and  the  run  is  surprisingly 
smooth.  As  the  crow  flies,  it  is  only  twenty-seven 
miles  to  Darjeeling,  but  the  panting  little  engine  must 
wind  along  fifty-one  miles.  The  grade  averages  one 
foot  in  twenty-nine,  and  the  speed  is  about  eight  miles 
an  hour.  But  it  is  an  inspiring  ride  all  the  way. 

Let  us  now  forget  about  the  ladder  and  think  of  a 
serpent.  The  route  is  so  circuitous  that  we  were  often 
able  to  wave  friendly  greetings  to  persons  in  the 
coach  ahead  or  behind  us.  At  a  little  place  called 
Chunabatti  we  glanced  downward  and  recognized 
Rongtong,  800  feet  below  us,  which  we  had  passed 
three-quarters  of  an  hour  before. 

There  are  eight  places,  however,  where  the  topog- 
raphy does  not  admit  of  endless  coiling,  and  at  these 
you  must  climb  by  loops  or  reverses.  One  of  the 
four  loops  would  appear  as  a  perfect  figure  eight  if 


THE  SUNRISE  AT  TIGER  HILL 


OUT  FOR  A  "  DANDY  "  RIDE 


ON  "  THE  ROOF  OF  THE  WORLD  "      169 


seen  from  an  aeroplane. 
At  the  end  of  the  loop  the 
train  is  about  a  hundred 
feet  higher  up.  The  action 
of  the  train  at  the  reverses 
is  more  like  that  of  a  lob- 
ster than  of  a  snake.  At 
Tindharia,  for  example, 
the  train  goes  up  a  steep 
incline,  stops,  then  starts 
backward.  When  it  stops 
the  second  time,  you  see 
the  track  sixty  feet  below 
and  realize  that  you  have 
been  backing  uphill.  The 
train  then  creeps  forward 
again  and  gains  another 
sixty  feet  as  it  finishes  a 
second  V.  And  so  you  go 
for  six  hours,  circling  like 
an  eagle,  coiling  like  a 
snake,  and  backing  like 
a  lobster  until  you  reach 
Ghoom,  three  and  one- 
half  miles  from  Darj eel- 
ing.  This  is  the  loftiest 
point  on  the  line  (7,407 
feet),  and  now  you  slide 
downward  600  feet  into 
Darjeeling. 

The  town  of  Darjeel- 


DARJEet-tNG. 


CALCUTTA 


170          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

ing  (with  the  exception  of  the  native  streets)  is  also 
perched  upon  the  slope  of  a  steep  hill  which  it  is  no 
small  job  to  climb.  Here  we  ran  into  a  new  kind  of 
vehicle — the  "dandy."  Imagine  a  coffin-shaped  box 
with  a  seat  in  it  and  with  a  shaft  on  either  side  extend- 
ing lengthwise.  Further  imagine  four  of  the  wildest- 
looking  Tibetans  that  you  ever  dreamed  of — two  in 
front  and  two  behind — and  there  is  your  "dandy." 
It  is  a  rarefied  sedan-chair. 

The  Across-India  party  spends  two  nights  in  this 
celestial  village  in  order  that  it  may  have  two  chances 
to  see  Mt.  Everest.  The  Eastward  Cruise  was  fa- 
voured by  the  gods,  but  the  Westward  party  had  a 
sorry  time  of  it.  But  even  if  you  miss  Everest,  you 
get  a  lot  for  your  money  in  this  quaint  place. 

In  order  to  see  Mt.  Everest  you  must  make  a 
six-mile  journey  (in  a  "dandy"  or  on  horseback) 
to  Tiger  Hill — and  you  must  be  there  at  or  before 
sunrise!  That  means  that  you  climb  out  of  a  warm 
bed  into  a  cold  atmosphere  at  the  premature  hour  of 
2  A.  M.,  swallow  a  cup  of  tea,  wrap  yourself  in  a 
blanket,  and  join  the  merry  throng.  Of  all  the  weird 
processions  that  I  have  witnessed,  that  ghostly  line 
of  "  dandies  "  creeping  up  the  mountain  in  intense 
darkness  is  the  ghostliest.  And  it  feels  ghostly  to  a 
lone  woman  when  she  peeps  out  and  discovers  that 
her  vehicle  has  become  isolated  and  she  is  at  the 
mercy  of  four  Tibetan  "  brigands."  But  she  is  as 
safe  as  if  she  were  home  in  bed. 

We  reach  the  barren  summit  of  Tiger  Hill  just  at 
dawn  and  watch  the  most  resplendent  sun  that  ever 


ON  «  THE  ROOF  OF  THE  WORLD  "      171 

shone;  the  pink  and  orange  light  diffuses  across  the 
eastern  sky  and  the  great  billows  of  fleecy  clouds  be- 
low us  go  drifting  away  like  a  vast  current  of  fleecy 
down. 

All  at  once  an  exclamation  bursts  from  the  ob- 
servers. Directly  in  front  of  the  platform  on  which 
we  stand,  the  snow-peak  of  Kanchenjunga  flashes  up, 
all  a-pink  with  the  first  beams  of  the  sun.  It  is  about 
a  thousand  feet  lower  than  Everest  but  is  much  nearer. 
At  last,  as  the  rays  shoot  higher,  they  illumine  a  dis- 
tant pyramid  of  snow,  half-hidden  by  two  other  pyra- 
mids— and  we  gaze  in  silence  at  the  highest  summit 
in  the  world — 29,000  feet  and  more  than  a  hundred 
miles  distant.  On  the  first  visit  we  shivered  in  an 
atmosphere  of  31°,  but  on  the  return  trip  the  ther- 
mometer had  crept  up  to  56°. 

While  I  think  of  it,  here  is  an  item  for  the  benefit 
of  those  who  are  always  talking  about  the  American's 
greed  for  the  Almighty  Dollar.  This  being  one  of 
the  world-renowned  tea-districts,  it  is  well  known  that 
every  visitor  will  want  to  drink  Darjeeling  tea.  The 
hotels,  therefore,  are  particular  to  serve  coffee  with 
the  table  d'hote  menu,  so  that  they  can  charge  ten 
cents  a  cup  for  all  the  tea  that  is  ordered!  The  In- 
dian hotels  have  lots  of  tricks  like  that. 

And  those  merry  villagers  of  Darjeeling,  with  tur- 
quoise-studded ear-rings  hanging  down  to  their  shoul- 
ders and  with  their  faces  smeared  with  pig's  blood — 
do  you  ever  dream  of  them  now,  Eunice?  Many  of 
the  women  look  exactly  like  some  Kiowa  Indians  that 
I  happen  to  remember,  but  they  are  a  good-natured 


172          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

bunch.  Here  comes  one  with  a  bunch  of  ten-cent 
rings  which  she  expects  to  sell  to  the  traveller  for 
two  rupees  apiece.  A  much-soiled  man,  whom  I 
should  meet  in  the  dark  only  with  great  reluctance, 
holds  out  a  Tibetan  prayer-wheel.  A  fantastic  girl 
or  a  nearly  naked  boy  sounds  out  India's  national 
hymn — "  Salaam,  'Sahib,  backsheesh !  " — pronouncing 
it  in  words  of  one  syllable :  "  Slom,  sob,  b'ksheesh !  " 

On  my  first  visit,  I  was  surprised  beyond  measure 
to  find  that  the  great  Dalai  Lama  of  Lhassa  was  living 
there,  as  a  pensioner  of  the  British  Government.  I 
had  always  thought  of  him  as  an  aged  patriarch  after 
the  similitude  of  the  Holy  One  of  "  Kim,"  but  he  is 
really  a  young  man.  On  the  return  trip,  he  had 
vanished  in  the  direction  of  Tibet,  with  a  convoy  that 
was  to  restore  him  to  his  lofty  perch.  Now  watch 
the  course  of  events  as  they  are  coursing  in  that  part 
of  the  world.  Here  is  my  one  best  bet:  In  the  con- 
fusion of  things  in  the  new  Chinese  Republic,  Great 
Britain  will  walk  away  with  Tibet,  which  is  supposed 
to  be  one  of  the  richest  provinces  of  China. 

And  that  descent  of  the  ladder — have  you  forgotten 
it?  Leaving  in  the  late  afternoon,  we  were  in  moun- 
tain darkness  during  the  latter  part  of  the  run.  The 
little  locomotive  that  hauled  us  was  not  equipped  with 
a  headlight,  so  the  engineer  rigged  up  a  flaming  gas- 
oline torch  on  top  of  his  engine.  As  we  came  sliding 
down  the  dark  mountainside,  with  this  torch  flaring 
in  the  wind,  we  were  like  some  fabled  monster  breath- 
ing out  flame  and  smoke,  or  like  a  king's  messenger 
rushing  along  the  highlands  with  the  torch  of  war. 


RANGOON 


XX 
BY  THE  OLD  RANGOON  PAGODA 

BEYOND  the  silt  of  the  hydra-mouthed  Irra- 
waddy,  as  you  swing  in  from  the  Bay  of 
Bengal,  churn  the  turbid  waters  of  the  Rangoon 
River,  and  glide  past  the  sentry-post  of  palms  on 
Elephant  Point,  rises  a  slender  cone  of  gold  out  of 
the  smoke  of  rice-mills  and  oil-refineries.  There  is 
nothing  in  all  the  templed  East,  from  the  mosque  of 
Sultan  Hassan  at  Cairo  to  the  Shogun  temples  at 
Nikko,  that  surpasses  it.  It  is  one  of  the  few  great 
shrines  that  stand  out  in  memory  long  after  others 
have  faded  in  confused  perspective  adown  the  vista 
of  forget  fulness. 

For  two  hours  after  passing  the  Point  you  stem  the 
yellow  current  of  the  river,  which  flows  between  low 
banks  lined  with  rice-fields.  Once  in  a  while  you 
see  a  distant  village  and  a  smaller  cone,  for  all  Burma 
is  a  land  of  pagodas.  Finally  the  ship  slows  down 
beyond  the  refineries  of  the  Burma  Oil  Company 
(which  is  said  to  have  700  miles  of  pipe-line),  the 
anchor  chain  rattles,  and  you  are  looking  out  upon 
the  ancient  capital  of  Burma. 

The  river  here  is  about  three  miles  wide,  very 
muddy,  and  with  a  dangerous  current.  It  requires 

173 


174         TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

more  than  half  an  hour  for  the  tender  to  reach  the 
wharf,  and  small  boats  do  not  risk  the  trip.  Grey 
gulls,  whose  wings  are  tipped  with  white  and  black 
bars,  sail  languidly  about  the  ship.  Ahead  is  a  con- 
fused mass  of  shipping;  to  right  and  left,  a  fringe 
of  green  and  the  smoke  of  mills;  and  over  all,  that 
tapering  cone  of  gold. 

In  all  its  circuit  of  this  great  globe,  the  Cleveland 
has  never  dropped  its  anchor  into  a  hotter  sea  than 
that  which  runs  in  a  tidal  wave  up  the  Rangoon 
River.  Everybody  will  tell  you  that  the  Red  Sea  is 
a  suburb  of  Hades  and  that  the  sun  of  the  Equator 
will  melt  the  tar  on  the  decks;  believe  it  not,  but  pin 
your  faith  to  the  man  who  tells  you  that  Rangoon 
is  hot. 

At  noon,  as  the  big  ship  swung  at  anchor  amid- 
stream,  the  view  from  the  promenade  deck  was  the 
most  vivid  picture  of  tropical  heat  that  may  be  seen 
outside  of  Arabia  and  the  Sahara.  The  glare  of  the 
sun  was  blinding,  even  though  its  reflection  came 
from  the  surface  of  water  as  muddy  as  that  of  the 
Missouri.  The  city  was  enveloped  in  a  blue  haze 
that  must  have  come  from  the  solar  intensity,  for 
there  was  no  cloud  and  the  smoke  from  the  oil  re- 
fineries to  the  right  had  not  energy  enough  to  rise 
in  the  face  of  that  sun.  A  few  native  canoes  were 
drifting  with  the  ebb  as  listlessly  as  if  some  angel 
of  the  deep  had  drugged  every  oarsman,  but  most 
of  the  small  boats  were  drawn  up  on  the  sand-bars 
and  lay  there  like  frozen  skiffs  locked  in  a  field  of 
muddy  ice — for  the  surface  of  the  river  at  midday 


BY  THE  OLD  RANGOON  PAGODA       175 

looked  like  a  mill-pond  in  January.  In  all  the  range 
of  vision  at  that  hour  there  was  no  visible  movement 
of  a  human  muscle.  The  beautiful  gulls  that  in  the 
morning  had  wheeled  and  circled  about  the  ship  now 
floated  slowly  by  on  lethargic  wing,  each  leaving  on 
the  face  of  the  yellow  water  its  perfect  shadow,  cast 
by  a  sun  that  hung  directly  overhead.  Even  the  move- 
ments of  the  ripples  of  that  turbid  stream  seemed  to 
be  slackened  by  the  stifling  heat,  and  the  enveloping 
atmosphere  was  so  subdued  that  the  lightest  feather 
would  have  fallen  precipitately  to  the  deck. 

And  yet  the  Cleveland  had  steamed  many  a  mile 
from  the  beaten  track  in  order  that  we  might  lie  at 
anchor  here,  for  the  globe-trotter  who  has  not  seen 
Rangoon  cannot  turn  homeward  with  the  feeling  that 
he  has  done  his  duty  to  the  East.  Rangoon  is  not  a 
city  of  successive  dynasties  and  religions  like  im- 
perial Delhi ;  it  has  neither  the  ancient  nor  the  modern 
palaces  that  delight  the  eye  at  Lucknow;  it  has  not 
the  wonderful  street  life  that  you  see  in  Canton,  nor 
the  list  of  "  sights  "  that  await  you  in  most  of  the 
great  cities  of  the  Orient.  But  Rangoon  has  its 
Shwe  Dagon  pagoda — and  nowhere  else  in  the  world 
is  there  a  city  that  can  boast  anything  resembling  it, 
not  even  in  Benares,  with  all  that  varied  collection 
of  sacred  places  on  the  Ganges,  from  the  Mosque  of 
Aurungzebe  to  the  Monkey  Temple.  And  the  Shwe 
Dagon  is  the  whole  show  at  Rangoon. 

That  this  tapering  dome  of  gilded  and  bespangled 
handiwork  rises  370  feet  above  the  vast  platform 
of  its  base,  and  that  its  circumference  is  a  quarter 


176          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

of  a  mile — all  this  is  nothing  beside  the  wonderful 
life  that  throbs  in  its  shaded  recesses  or  basks  in 
the  torrid  sun.  Here  at  Rangoon,  as  nowhere  else — 
here  in  Judson's  country,  the  most  Christian  of  Eastern 
lands — you  may  best  see  "  the  heathen  in  his  blind- 
ness "  and  idolatry  in  its  grossest  and  most  massive 
aspect.  And  yet  it  is  all  so  resplendent  in  gold-leaf 
and  so  gaudy  in  iridescent  spangles  that  you  feel 
yourself  to  be  in  some  stupendous  playhouse  or  some 
Oriental  bazaar  instead  of  in  a  holiest-of-all  place, 
whither  the  feet  of  pilgrims  have  turned  continuously 
for  two-score  centuries,  perhaps. 

When  you  alight  at  the  entrance,  you  are  con- 
fronted by  a  wide  stone  stairway  that  is  flanked  on 
either  hand  by  a  hideous  dragon  in  white,  with  black 
and  red  trimmings.  The  stairway  ascends  in  terrace 
fashion  and  it  is  possible  to  climb  it  in  ten  minutes. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  you  will  require  at  least  half  an 
hour  for  the  ascent,  for  the  simple  reason  that  it  is 
so  alive  with  quaint  activity  from  the  prosaic  street 
below  to  the  holiest-of-all  shrine  that  opens  out  to 
face  the  topmost  stair. 

The  stairway,  covered  over  with  a  teak  roof,  is  a 
street  of  booths,  devoted  mainly  to  the  sale  of  small 
but  melodious  gongs  and  huge  Burmese  cigarettes. 
The  most  inveterate  smoker  would  not  recognize  the 
Burmese  variety  if  he  should  meet  it  rolling  down 
the  steps.  It  may  be  as  small  as  a  lead-pencil  but 
will  more  likely  surpass  a  Roman  candle  in  size — 
and  in  odour  after  ignition.  An  athletic  individual 
can  keep  one  in  his  mouth  by  means  of  a  strong  clutch 


BY  THE  OLD  RANGOON  PAGODA       177 

with  the  right  hand,  and  one  with  good  lungs  and 
plenty  of  nerve  can  smoke  it  to  the  end  in  three- 
quarters  of  an  hour.  It  is  made  mostly  of  thick  and 
coarse  rice-paper,  within  which  is  a  layer  of  leaves 
and  a  sprinkling  of  tobacco.  If,  after  purchasing 
one,  you  do  not  care  to  smoke  it,  you  may  unroll  it 
and  use  the  paper  to  wrap  up  your  laundry. 

The  last  stair  leads  you  out  upon  the  great  plat- 
form upon  which  the  Golden  Pagoda  rests,  and  here 
you  may  pause  at  any  hour  to  watch  a  crowd  of 
pilgrims  as  they  light  their  tapers  at  the  shrine  and 
burn  their  paper  prayers  before  the  face  of  the  great 
Buddha.  No  solemnity  like  that  of  a  vaulted  cathe- 
dral attends  this  ceremony,  though  it  is  generally 
serious  enough  on  the  part  of  the  worshippers.  The 
throng  ebbs  and  flows  heedlessly,  with  unvarying  per- 
sistence; and  now  and  then,  it  must  be  confessed, 
one  of  the  worshippers  will  be  burning  a  cigarette 
while  he  watches  his  prayer  go  up  in  smoke. 

Up  to  this  point  the  Shwe  Dagon  has  been  to  you 
a  pagoda.  As  you  turn  away  from  the  central  shrine 
at  its  base,  the  golden  cone  fades  into  insignificance 
and  you  realize  that  you  are  in  a  village  of  pagodas. 
On  either  hand,  as  you  walk  for  an  hour  in  the  open 
square  that  surrounds  the  cone,  are  innumerable 
shrines  of  the  most  intricate  architecture  and  the 
gaudiest  ornamentation  that  the  Oriental  mind  has 
conceived.  Each  little  pagoda  has  its  own  Buddha 
or  collection  of  Buddhas,  and  each  seems  to  have  its 
own  little  coterie  of  patrons.  As  a  rule  the  features 
of  the  statues  are  cast  in  a  contemplative  mould,  but 


178          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

now  and  then  you  will  be  confronted  by  figures  that 
seem  more  appropriate  to  a  Bowery  saloon.  One 
pair  that  I  recall  appeared  to  be  in  the  last  stages 
of  a  genuine  but  hilarious  "  jag." 

In  between  and  along  the  thoroughfare,  and  even 
within  the  shrines  themselves,  are  the  tiny  shops  of 
those  who  make  the  Shwe  Dagon  a  house  of  merchan- 
dise. Squat  at  the  entrance  of  this  or  that  is  a  blind 
musician,  doling  out  weird  sounds  from  the  strings 
of  some  quaint  instrument  that  is  played  with  fingers 
or  toes;  and  squat  about  him  are  a  few  women  or 
girls  whose  vocal  discord  is  intended  to  put  the  passer- 
by into  a  spirit  of  alms-giving.  Crouching  singly  or 
in  groups  are  yellow-robed,  unwashed  men  with  shaven 
heads,  holding  out  their  grimy  hands  for  pence — the 
"  droning  priests  "  that  you  see  everywhere  in  this 
pilgrim  city. 

If  you  speak  only  of  the  attendants  and  hangers-on 
of  these  shrines,  then  "  parasitic "  is  the  adjective 
most  appropriate,  for  they  feast  and  fatten  on  the 
credulity  of  one  of  the  most  amiable  and  simple- 
minded  of  the  peoples  of  the  East.  But  that  sug- 
gestive adjective  fits  also  the  host  that  makes  mer- 
chandise of  this  historic  temple — musicians  and  for- 
tune-tellers and  sellers  of  charms  and  peddlers  of 
everything  that  can  separate  a  devout  pilgrim  (or  an 
unbelieving  tourist)  from  a  few  paltry  annas. 

But  the  Shwe  Dagon  has  a  lovelier  aspect  when 
you  turn  from  the  temple-dwellers  to  the  streams  of 
devout  visitors  that  empty  into  the  square  from  each 
of  its  four  gateways.  The  Burmese  seem  to  worship 


FLIPPING  THE  LIGHT  FANTASTIC  FINGER 


THE  MAN  FROM  SUPERIOR  FEELS  AT  HOME 


BY  THE  OLD  RANGOON  PAGODA       179 

in  family  groups,  and  they  have  the  pleasant  habit 
of  arraying  themselves  in  their  brightest  garments 
before  ascending  to  the  great  house  of  prayer.  The 
men  present  a  sombre-hued  aspect,  but  the  little  women 
and  the  children  are  a  most  pleasing  picture  as  they 
stand  before  the  burning  tapers  whose  incense  ascends 
to  Buddha.  They  vividly  recall  the  lines  of  Kipling: 

"  I've  a  neater,  sweeter  maiden  in  a  cleaner,  greener  land ! 
On  the  road  to  Mandalay, 
Where  the  old  Flotilla  lay : 

Can't  you  'ear  their  paddles  chunkin'  from  Rangoon  to  Man- 
dalay ? 

On  the  road  to  Mandalay, 
Where  the  flyin'-fishes  play, 

An'  the  dawn  comes  up  like  thunder  outer  China  'crost  the 
Bay!" 

And  other  incense  is  mingled  with  that  of  the  sacred 
altars,  for  Buddha  does  not  object  to  the  pungent 
odour  of  very  bad  Burmese  tobacco.  It  was  no  un- 
common sight  to  see  a  dainty  little  lady  performing 
her  genuflections  before  a  shrine,  with  the  stump  of 
a  fat  and  very  black  cigar  protruding  at  a  nonchalant 
angle  from  her  tiny  mouth.  The  ordinary  Rangoon 
cigar  is  more  adaptable  here  than  is  Kipling's  "  whack- 
ing white  cherQot,"  which  really  requires  two  hands 
to  manipulate.  Though  you  may  have  stood  in  san- 
dalled feet  at  the  shrines  of  Buddha  in  Japan  and 
Singapore  and  Java  and  on  the  slope  of  the  Himalayas, 
you  have  not  even  the  faintest  conception  of  the  place 
where  they  worship  Buddha  in  Rangoon. 

We  saw  much  more  in  Rangoon — "  elephints  a-pilin' 
teak,"  and  dainty  girls  dancing  to  outlandish  music 


180          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

at  the  Minto  Mansions — but  this  is  the  one  overtower- 
ing  memory  of  Rangoon.  "  The  old  Moulmein  pa- 
goda, looking  eastward  to  the  sea  "  may  have  a  more 
sentimental  interest  and  its  Burma  girl  may  be  "  a 
neater,  sweeter  maiden,"  but  the  Shwe  Dagon  is  good 
enough  for  me. 

Oh,  yes,  and  this  is  where  our  chief  romance  budded 
and  burst  into  full  bloom  in  one  brief  day  on  the 
Westward  Cruise!  Most  of  the  Cleveland  romances 
are  of  the  harmless  variety  and  merely  give  idle  pas- 
sengers something  to  keep  their  guessing  machinery 
from  rusting,  but  now  and  then  one  progresses  into 
matrimony. 

She  was  a  star-performer  from  the  day  we  left 
'Frisco,  and  there  was  a  new  conquest  in  every  port — 
and  nice  presents,  too !  Remember  Manila?  Remem- 
ber the  Japanese  poodle  ?  Remember ? 

But  destiny  was  waiting  at  Rangoon.  Was  he  an 
Austrian,  or  a  Syrian,  or  an  Eurasian  ?  What  matters 
that,  since  he  was  rich  in  jewels  and  embroideries  and 
rupees?  She  sailed  away  and  left  him,  but  never  got 
farther  away  than  Calcutta.  There  she  flitted — and 
let  us  hope  that  life  trickles  merrily  along  for  them 
in  the  shadow  of  the  Shwe  Dagon. 


SINGAPORE 


XXI 
THE  GATE  TO  THE  UTTERMOST  EAST 

IF  somebody  in  the  uttermost  East  owes  you  money, 
or  if  you  have  against  him  a  venerable  grudge 
which  nothing  but  blood  can  wipe  out — go  and 
sit  down  at  Singapore.    Sooner  or  later  he  will  come 
sauntering  along  the   Esplanade,    for   he   who  once 
passes  eastward  will  almost  certainly  be  borne  again 
westward  through  the  Malacca   Strait — and  here  is 
the  place  to  swat  him. 

An  Englishman  who  went  to  the  East  as  a  clerk 
named  Tom  Raffles  and  returned  as  Sir  Thomas 
Stamford  Raffles  was  the  first  to  see  Singapore  from 
a  swatter's  viewpoint.  He  was  then  sitting  in  a 
lieutenant-governor's  chair  across  in  Sumatra — where 
the  dawn  comes  seven  hours  earlier  than  in  the  chan- 
celleries of  Europe — but  it  was  more  than  seven  hours 
before  the  great  light  reached  the  lords  of  ocean  cur- 
rents and  the  overlords  of  dependent  peoples.  But 
they  saw  it  at  last  through  imperial  glasses — and  so 
it  is  that  we  found  in  Singapore  a  Raffles  Hotel,  a 
Raffles  Museum,  a  Raffles  Plain,  a  Raffles  Reclama- 
tion, a  Raffles  Quay,  a  Raffles  Place,  a  fungus  called 
Rafflesia  Arnoldi,  and  a  heroic  statue  of  the  man  with 
the  long  vision. 

181 


182          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

They  do  not  do  handsome  things  like  that  over  in 
Job  Charnock's  city  on  the  Hooghly,  but  little  does 
Job  care  now.  Everybody  knows  that  not  one  of  the 
heroic  figures  standing  on  Calcutta  pedestals  had  nerve 
enough  to  found  a  city  or  to  rob  a  suttee  stone  of  a 
handsome  widow. 

Now  the  British  ports  of  the  Far  East  do  not  fall 
over  their  feet  in  joy  at  the  coming  of  any  party 
of  American  tourists,  however  small,  or  of  any  Ger- 
man steamer,  however  large.  The  Colonial  Secretary 
is  not  seen  standing  on  the  dock,  speech  in  hand;  the 
Lord  Mayor  is  not  there  with  the  keys  of  the  city; 
and  the  Secretary  of  the  Chamber  of  Commerce  is  not 
waiting  with  a  basketful  of  medals  to  pin  on  us.  Our 
English  brother  is  not  tickled  to  see  us — most  dis- 
tinctly not.  However,  there  are  always  a  few  loyal 
subjects  of  His  Britannic  Majesty  who  are  willing  to 
make  merchandise  out  of  the  event  by  hiring  out  con- 
veyances, renting  hotel  space  (at  exorbitant  rates), 
and  selling  imitation  jewels  at  Tiffany  prices. 

At  Singapore,  as  the  big  ship  made  fast  to  the  dock, 
we  saw  our  reception  committee  in  waiting — and  a 
weird  committee  it  was.  Picture  to  yourself  a  Chinese 
jinrikisha-man  clad  only  in  a  loin-cloth  and  a  conical 
hat  made  of  matting;  his  brown  body  shines  in  the 
sunlight  with  the  glint  of  polished  bronze,  for  the 
torrid  sun  has  turned  the  yellow  man  into  a  brown. 
Erect,  graceful,  lithe,  and  wide-awake,  he  is  a  picture 
in  repose;  and  when  he  is  in  action,  trotting  easily 
along  in  harness,  with  his  superb  muscles  playing  on 
his  bare  back  like  sunlight  flickering  through  a  mass 


FRIENDS  OF  YOUR  CRUISING  DAYS 


A  KEEPER  OF  THE  KING'S  PEACE 


THE  GATE  TO  THE  UTTERMOST  EAST   183 

of  foliage,  he  is  just  about  the  finest  specimen  of 
masculine  architecture  that  I  have  seen  in  any  part 
of  the  world.  Now  multiply  this  bronze  statue  by 
250  and  you  have  our  reception  committee  on  the 
Singapore  dock.  Had  the  half  of  our  party  not  been 
scheduled  to  take  the  near-by  train  to  Johore,  this 
committee  would  have  been  a  phalanx  of  500. 

It  takes  only  half  a  day  for  the  trip  to  Johore, 
which  is  about  fifteen  miles  distant.  There  is  not 
much  to  see  when  you  get  there — a  Chinese  village 
at  the  waterfront,  a  pretentious  mosque  a  mile  in  the 
background,  a  "  palace  "  that  would  make  a  second- 
class  boarding-house,  and  as  many  fan-tan  joints  as 
there  are  supposed  to  be  in  New  York.  I  recall  that 
the  sign  on  one  of  them  reads  "  Gambling  Farm,"  so 
I  suppose  the  proprietor  is  a  prominent  member  of  the 
Singapore  Agricultural  Society. 

Singapore  is  a  melodious  way  of  saying  some  things 
that  are  autocratic  and  harsh.  Here  is  one  of  them, 
set  to  rhyme: 

"  Hail,  Mother !  East  and  West  must  seek  my  aid 

Ere  the  spent  gear  shall  dare  the  ports  afar. 
The  second  doorway  of  the  wide  world's  trade 
Is  mine  to  loose  or  bar.". 

Of  course,  you  can  get  to  the  Farthest  East  by  run- 
ning around  Cape  Horn  or  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope 
in  the  good,  old-fashioned  way;  or,  if  you  have  plenty 
of  stove-wood  aboard  and  do  not  mind  little  things 
like  coral-reefs  and  pieces  of  unlighted  rock  sticking 
up  out  of  the  sea,  you  can  steer  around  Sumatra  and 


184          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

work  your  way  to  the  northwest.  But  if  you  want 
to  keep  in  the  middle  of  the  road  and  fill  up  your 
coal-bins  as  you  go,  you  must  be  on  good  terms  with 
the  men  who  sit  under  the  flag  at  Singapore.  The 
British  do  not  need  to  bother  about  who  owns  the 
seas  so  long  as  they  own  nearly  all  the  gateways. 

The  Governor-General  of  the  Straits  Settlements 
issues  no  statistics  showing  how  many  tons  of  red- 
hot  projectiles  per  minute  can  be  hurled  from  Fort 
Canning  against  a  hostile  fleet,  but  I  do  not  wish 
to  book  passage  on  any  vessel  that  tries  to  go  through 
the  Singapore  gate  without  permission.  Of  course, 
the  admiral  of  a  fleet  that  should  succeed  in  doing 
this  would  have  his  picture  hung  in  the  Gallery  of 
Great  Admirals,  but  there  would  be  a  lot  of  women 
wearing  black  in  the  towns  his  crew  came  from. 

It  is  one  of  my  eccentricities,  on  entering  a  city  like 
Singapore  for  the  first  time,  to  avoid  the  guide-book 
until  after  I  have  had  the  fun  of  letting  the  place 
surprise  me  with  the  unexpected.  It  came  to  me  as 
something  of  a  shock,  therefore,  to  find  that  this 
British  city  here  at  the  end  of  the  Malay  Peninsula 
was  really  a  suburb  of  China.  It  shelters  about  200,- 
ooo  Chinese,  while  there  are  but  40,000  Malays,  20,000 
Hindus,  5,000  Europeans,  5,000  Eurasians,  and  an- 
other 5,000  picked  up  at  the  remnant  counter.  A  col- 
lection of  the  male  and  female  of  every  species  and 
cross-species  that  lives  in  Singapore  would  make  the 
Raffles  Museum  more  popular  than  anything  that  has 
yet  crept  into  it. 

I  had  also  expected  to  find  Singapore  a  sort  of  Port 


THE  GATE  TO  THE  UTTERMOST  EAST  185 

Said,  because  it  is  a  sailor's  resort.  But  it  is  a  beauti- 
ful place  and  shows  that  it  has  a  good  housekeeper. 
Nowhere  in  it  do  you  find'  the  filth  of  Egypt  or  of 
India — not  even  in  a  Chinese  meat-shop.  Big  Sikhs 
patrol  the  streets,  with  now  and  then  a  Malay  or  a 
Chinese  policeman,  and  you  may  wander  anywhere 
without  apprehension.  Your  'rickshaw  man  may  get 
balky  if  he  be  one  of  those  hired  by  the  day,  but  you 
can  tame  him  very  quickly  by  taking  away  his 
"  Hapag  "  flag  and  writing  down  the  number  of  his 
vehicle,  with  the  evident  purpose  of  making  a  trans- 
fer and  holding  up  his  pay-envelope. 

Morally  speaking,  Singapore  has  attained  to  no 
great  eminence,  but  there  are  plenty  of  worse  cities 
in  the  world  that  have  a  much  more  savoury  reputa- 
tion. Mr.  Kipling  has  linked  its  Malay  Street  with 
Bombay's  Grant  Road  in  an  unholy  catalogue,  but 
you  may  ride  to  a  regular  church  service  for  the 
same  fare  that  you  pay  to  visit  an  opium-joint.  Vice 
may  be  selected  with  the  same  fine  discrimination  that 
you  use  in  ordering  your  dinner  from  an  a  la  carte 
list,  but  nobody  comes  around  with  a  trayful  of  it  and 
thrusts  it  upon  your  attention. 

This  hot  metropolis  here  at  the  roadside  is  a  fine 
example  of  what  the  Celestial  brother  can  do  under 
a  humane,  sanitary,  semi-benevolent  government. 
Generations  of  British  rule  have  not  anglicized  the 
Chinese  to  any  great  extent,  but  the  Chief  Sanitary 
Officer  sees  that  he  keeps  the  streets  clean.  The  aver- 
age 'rickshaw  man  does  not  know  enough  English  to 
cover  the  back  of  a  postage-stamp,  but  he  is  evidently 


186          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

more  prosperous  than  his  Canton  brother.  But  the 
most  surprising  thing  about  him  was  the  fact  that 
here,  beyond  the  range  of  the  Manchu  dynasty  and 
already  emancipated  in  many  respects,  was  the  only 
place  in  our  circuit  of  the  globe  where  we  found  the 
Chinaman  with  a  queue. 

John  clings  also  to  most  of  his  ancestral  ways.  If 
you  are  watchful,  you  may  see  him  going  into  the 
Chinese  Y.  M.  C.  A.,  but  you  are  much  more  likely 
to  find  him  in  one  of  the  gilded  (or  squalid)  fan-tan 
bazaars,  or  in  an  opium  den  over  at  Johore.  He 
proudly  posts  his  name  at  the  edge  of  a  small  plot  of 
rubber-trees,  but  he  does  not  scorn  to  dabble  in  the 
rice-paddies,  or  to  bring  his  ducks  and  pigs  to  market 
in  rattan  baskets.  He  is  a  merchant  and  a  tailor  and 
a  grocer — but  the  washerman  from  Shanghai  an- 
nounces his  trade  and  place  of  origin  in  proud  and 
glaring  letters,  just  as  if  his  establishment  were  a 
branch  of  the  Hong  Kong  Bank. 

Even  here  in  Singapore,  he  needs  a  bath  and  a  fan- 
tan  antidote,  and  a  cure  for  the  opium  habit,  and  an 
elementary  education — none  of  which  the  Government 
seems  greatly  concerned  about.  But  that  government 
has  given  him  what  he  never  had  in  his  own  land — 
a  chance  to  live  and  work  and  prosper  in  an  atmosphere 
free  from  extortion  and  superstition.  And  John  has 
grabbed  that  chance  with  his  long  fingers  and  is  show- 
ing how  the  Mongolian  can  pull  himself  up  to  the 
plane  of  Oriental  respectability. 

I  forgot  to  say  that  it  was  quite  warm  here ! 


EQUATOR 


XXII 
CROSSING  THE  EQUATORIAL  LINE 

ON  the  Eastward,  our  crossing  was  overshad- 
owed by  a  tragedy ;  on  the  Westward,  all  was 
comedy.  Let  us  take  the  comedy  first. 
We  reached  Latitude  o°  about  10  o'clock  on  Mon- 
day evening,  March  25th.  At  9  o'clock,  there  came 
a  blaze  of  calcium  light  from  the  forecastle  and  the 
man  in  the  crow's  nest  called  to  the  bridge.  The 
bridge  answered  and  the  dripping  figure  of  Triton, 
Neptune's  prime  minister,  came  stalking  aft.  He  was 
very  tall,  wore  a  big  bunch  of  whiskers  made  from 
untwisted  rope,  and  a  waterproof  coat  that  dripped 
the  brine  of  the  sea.  He  was  escorted  by  music  to 
a  convenient  place  on  the  after  deck,  where  the  Cap- 
tain greeted  him  as  a  royal  messenger.  Then  Triton 
made  a  little  speech  in  German  (which  was  lost  on 
the  audience)  and  said  how  glad  he  was  to  see  the 
Cleveland  in  his  latitude  again.  Then  the  messenger 
of  the  deep  placed  in  the  Captain's  hands  a  rude 
scrawl  from  Neptune,  announcing  that  the  King  of 
the  Sea  would  be  aboard  at  two  o'clock  the  next 
afternoon  to  see  that  the  taint  of  the  Northern  Hemi- 
sphere was  washed  from  the  crew  and  the  passengers 
in  proper  style.  Now  came  the  most  affecting  part 

187 


188          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

of  this  preliminary  ceremony.  The  Captain  presented 
Triton  with  a  huge  stein  of  beer,  which  that  gentle- 
man was  obligated  to  drink  without  removing  it  from 
his  lips.  Long  rehearsals  on  the  forecastle  deck  had 
prepared  Triton  for  this  emotional  task. 

Four  bells  in  the  afternoon  of  the  succeeding  day 
found  all  the  crew  and  the  band  in  "  full-dress  "  be- 
fitting the  occasion,  while  the  passengers  were  swarm- 
ing all  over  that  part  of  the  ship  where  the  tank  and 
the  platform  had  been  improvised. 

Neptune  arises  in  grandeur  and  salutes  the  Captain. 
Then  he  announces  that  we  have  come  together  for 
the  purpose  of  clearing  away  the  dirt  of  the  North 
from  the  beautiful  ship  before  it  passes  through  his 
domains.  The  first  thing  is  to  find  out  where  we  are 
— which  gives  the  Astronomer  his  one  chance  for  the 
spot-light. 

The  Astronomer's  speech  is  in  vernacular  German 
and  his  gestures  consist  of  manipulations  of  a  crude 
telescope  and  sextant,  and  after  a  vain  search  for 
the  Line  (which  appears  to  have  gotten  lost)  he  at 
last  fishes  it  up  in  triumph. 

Now  comes  the  Pastor.  "  Let  us  sing,  at  the  be- 
ginning of  our  devotions,  that  beautiful  hymn, 
'  Haarig,  Haarig,  Haarig  1st  die  Katze!  '  Since  the 
beautiful  rhythm  and  tender  sentiment  of  this  hymn 
are  lost  in  translation,  the  original  of  the  first  stanza 
is  here  given,  alongside  the  English: 

"Haarig,  haarig,  haarigist  die  Katz.  "  Hairy,  hairy,  hairy,  is  the  cat. 

Wenn  die  Katz  nicht  haarig  war,  If  the  cat  were  not  hairy, 

Dann  pfing  sie  keine  Mause  mehr,  Then  it  would  catch  no  more  mice, 

Haarig,  haarig, haarigist  die  Katz."  Hairy,  hairy,  hairy  is  the  cat." 


CROSSING  THE  EQUATORIAL  LINE     189 

The  remainder  of  the  hymn  is  omitted  for  lack  of 
space,  and  a  description  of  the  music  provided  by 
the  choir  of  seamen  is  omitted  for  lack  of  language. 

Then  the  Pastor  reads  the  lesson,  ending  with  this 
exhortation :  "  Then  come  unto  me  all  ye  that  are  laden 
with  the  following  sins :  long  hair,  decayed  teeth,  and 
soil  of  the  Northern  Hemisphere — and  get  what  is  com- 
ing to  you !  "  Then  another  stanza  of  the  Katz  hymn. 

The  next  order  of  the  day  is  that  of  hanging  medals 
on  all  the  officers  on  the  platform.  Neptune  tosses 
bouquets  to  each  in  turn — the  Captain,  Mr.  Vogelsang, 
Mr.  Scherer,  the  Chief  Engineer,  the  Chief  Officer,  the 
Doctor,  and  Mr.  Martini.  Several  ribbon  counters  had 
apparently  been  looted  to  provide  the  decorations. 

Now  the  Barber  comes  on  with  the  usual  horse-play 
and  the  time-honoured  wooden  razor,  scissors,  soap- 
suds, and  axle-grease.  Certain  volunteer  candidates 
were  now  lined  up,  the  men  first.  Each  sat  on  the 
edge  of  the  tank  while  the  barber  decorated  his 
features  with  his  preparations  and  proceeded  to  shave 
him.  In  the  midst  of  this  operation,  the  candidate 
landed  in  the  tank,  where  he  was  repeatedly  ducked  by 
the  willing  performers  in  charge.  This  being  con- 
cluded to  their  satisfaction,  the  water-logged  man  was 
then  requested  to  enter  one  end  of  a  big  canvas  tube, 
which  was  the  prescribed  exit.  In  the  course  of  his 
transit,  he  was  prodded  with  hatchets  until  he  reached 
the  half-way  distance,  and  then  a  hose  was  turned 
into  the  tube.  None  of  the  gentlemen  were  dusty  when 
they  came  out. 

The  ladies  were  initiated  in  a  much  gentler  fashion. 


190          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

In  fact,  their  part  of  the  ceremony  was  of  little  in- 
terest except  to  those  participating  in  it.  And  this 
leads  me  to  enquire  why  it  is  that  some  man  of  genius 
among  the  mariners  of  the  sea  does  not  work  out 
something  new  and  novel  for  this  important  occasion. 

The  best  fun  came  at  the  close,  when  everybody 
thought  the  occasion  was  past.  Long  lines  of  hose 
had  been  hauled  up  the  rigging  the  night  before  and 
securely  lashed  there.  Each  line  of  hose  was  per- 
forated throughout  its  entire  length.  Suspicious  pas- 
sengers who  had  observed  these  water-pipes  were  care- 
ful to  get  out  of  range  of  the  nozzles  on  the  end- 
but  they  were  caught  by  the  hundreds  of  streams  that 
shot  out  the  moment  the  hydrant  was  turned.  Those 
who  escaped  that  sprinkling  were  pursued  over  the 
deck  by  sailors  with  other  nozzles  in  their  hands,  and 
few  were  they  who  did  not  need  to  go  below  for  a 
change  of  clothing  afterward.  And  it  was  a  sad  hour 
for  the  passengers  with  kodaks. 

And  now  let  us  come  to  the  day  whose  darkening 
shadows  fell  upon  the  Eastward  Cruise. 

Never  was  an  hour  set  apart  by  the  traditions  of 
the  sea  for  comedy  and  buffoonery  more  quickly 
turned  into  one  of  dramatic  action  and  tragedy.  The 
fun-loving  passengers  were  massed  on  the  after  deck, 
around  the  large  tank,  covering  every  square  inch  of 
available  sitting  or  standing  space.  The  more  ven- 
turesome were  hanging  in  the  rigging  or  perched  upon 
the  awnings  or  standing  upon  the  life-boats. 

The  men  of  the  sea  had  of  course  rigged  themselves 
up  in  every  kind  of  fantastic  costume  that  they  could 


CROSSING  THE  EQUATORIAL  LINE     191 

think  of,  and  had  frescoed  their  faces  and  bodies  with 
the  most  vivid  paint  that  could  be  found  in  the  ship's 
stores.  The  band  was  also  fantastically  arrayed,  for 
it  was  to  lead  the  procession  of  wild  Indians  and 
Africans  as  it  came  aft.  The  ship's  bell  had  already 
struck  the  hour,  but  the  barbaric  masqueraders  lin- 
gered for  a  moment  on  the  forecastle  deck  to  be 
photographed.  Then  they  lined  up  and  looked  for  the 
signal  from  the  bridge.  But  it  was  never  given. 

Sitting  quietly  in  a  corner  of  the  lower  promenade 
deck  was  a  lady  who  professed  to  be  uninterested  in 
the  uproarious  proceedings  of  the  afternoon.  But  she 
had  acted  strangely  before  and  was  understood  to 
be  unwell.  Just  as  the  hour  of  two  rang  out,  this  old 
lady  climbed  up  on  the  railing  unobserved  and  threw 
herself  over.  Although  it  happened  in  the  immediate 
vicinity  of  hundreds  of  people,  it  was  done  so  quickly 
that  only  two  persons  saw  it.  Others  heard  the 
splash,  including  one  passenger  who  was  sitting  out 
on  the  gangway,  over  the  side  of  the  ship.  Beneath 
him,  face  upward  but  without  movement  of  any  kind, 
he  saw  the  body  float  swiftly  past,  but  he  thought  it 
only  a  stuffed  dummy  that  had  been  thrown  overboard 
as  a  part  of  the  farcical  programme.  Even  when  he 
saw  an  officer  running  past  him  in  the  direction  of 
the  bridge,  he  did  not  become  excited :  it  was  to  him 
merely  the  beginning  of  the  show. 

While  the  officer  was  making  for  the  bridge  at  full 
speed,  there  was  great  activity  on  the  aft  hurricane- 
deck.  The  Second  Officer  and  two  seamen  there  sta- 
tioned were  stripping  the  canvas  from  Life-boat  No. 


192          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

13  and  swinging  it  out  over  the  side.  The  officer  and 
men  entered  it,  took  out  the  oars,  and  the  boat  was 
slowly  lowered  to  within  a  few  feet  of  the  water. 
Meanwhile  the  ship  ploughed  steadily  ahead  and  the 
passengers  expected  to  see  Neptune  picked  up  by  the 
life-boat. 

But  things  had  been  happening  on  the  bridge  in 
the  meantime.  The  moment  the  officer  on  duty  heard 
the  cry,  he  signalled  to  the  engine-room  to  reverse 
both  engines.  Then  he  stepped  to  the  starboard  side 
(the  woman  had  gone  overboard  on  this  side)  and 
jerked  a  cord.  This  released  a  large  life-preserver 
that  always  hangs  there.  It  is  an  ordinary  ring-buoy 
such  as  may  be  found  distributed  around  the  prome- 
nade deck,  but  it  has  attached  to  it  a  small  tank  and 
a  torch.  When  it  drops  into  the  water,  it  rights  itself, 
and  the  torch  sticks  up  for  a  yard  above  the  surface. 
The  contact  with  the  water  produces  a  chemical  re- 
action that  generates  a  gas  and  automatically  lights 
the  torch.  By  night  this  torch  indicates  to  the  navi- 
gating officer  the  vicinity  of  the  spot  where  the  body 
went  overboard,  and  by  day  he  can  of  course  see  both 
the  buoy  and  the  smoking  torch  above  it.  Meanwhile 
a  couple  of  ordinary  life-preservers  had  been  thrown 
overboard  from  the  deck  below.  % 

The  momentum  of  a  I7,ooo-ton  ship  moving  at 
ordinary  speed  is  not  easily  checked,  even  with  the 
engines  whirling  the  propellers  rapidly  in  the  reverse 
direction.  It  really  required  only  four  minutes  for  the 
ship  to  cease  going  forward  and  begin  to  slide  astern, 
but  the  time  seemed  much  longer.  By  this  time  the 


CROSSING  THE  EQUATORIAL  LINE     193 

smoking  buoy  was  far  in  the  distance,  more  than  a 
mile  it  seemed,  and  one  could  imagine  the  despair  of 
a  weak  swimmer  struggling  with  the  waves  and  ob- 
serving the  infinity  of  distance  between  himself  and 
rescue.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  was  only  about  five 
minutes  before  the  ship  had  run  backward  to  the  buoy. 

The  woman's  body  had  meantime  been  shifted  by 
the  waves,  although  it  remained  afloat.  It  was  not 
easy  to  discern  it,  even  in  sunlight  and  from  the  upper 
decks.  Besides,  most  of  the  observers  were  looking 
on  the  starboard  side,  whereas  the  ship  was  passing  the 
body  on  the  port  side.  Then  came  a  moment  of 
splendid  heroism. 

Among  the  passengers  was  a  young  man  by  the 
name  of  Marcus  Jordan,  of  Baltimore.  He  is  about 
eighteen,  athletic,  and  a  good  swimmer;  but  he  has 
the  complexion  of  a  woman  and  is  not  the  type  that 
one  would  pick  for  heroic  action  out  of  a  crowd  of 
five  hundred.  But  young  Jordan  is  made  of  the  right 
stuff.  As  the  reversing  ship  drew  near  to  the  buoy, 
he  was  standing  on  the  aft  hurricane-deck.  He  was 
one  of  the  few  who  happened  to  look  in  the  right 
direction,  and  he  saw  the  floating  body.  The  ship 
was  still  driving  its  way  backward  at  full  speed,  but 
Jordan  hesitated  not  an  instant. 

Throwing  aside  his  coat  as  he  ran  to  the  rail,  he 
paused  a  moment  to  slip  off  his  canvas  shoes.  Then 
his  body  shot  over  the  rail,  head  foremost,  and  dis- 
appeared into  the  waves.  It  was  a  magnificent  dive, 
for  the  ship's  literature  says  that  it  is  fifty-five  feet 
above  the  water-line.  It  was  but  a  moment  until  his 


194          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

head  reappeared,  for  he  knew  how  to  curve  as  he 
went  down.  Clearing  the  water  from  his  eyes,  he 
began  to  look  for  the  body,  which  could  not  be  seen 
so  easily  now  that  he  was  on  a  level  with  it.  As  soon 
as  he  could  locate  it  he  swam  steadily  to  it,  supported 
it  with  his  left  hand,  and  began  swimming  with  his 
right  toward  the  nearest  life-preserver.  And  the  ship 
passed  on  astern,  although  the  engines  had  again  been 
quickly  reversed. 

With  the  best  seamanship,  to  bring  the  vessel  to  a 
standstill  required  about  two  minutes  from  the  time 
Jordan  dived.  The  question  in  the  minds  of  many 
was  whether  the  swimmer  could  be  reached  before  he 
had  attracted  the  eye  of  sharks,  for  it  is  well  known 
that  this  Java  Sea  is  alive  with  them.  (One  of  the 
divertisements  while  at  anchor  at  Batavia  is  that  of 
watching  the  hungry  monsters  manoeuvre  around  the 
stern  in  search  of  food.) 

The  instant  the  ship  came  to  a  standstill,  the  life- 
boat struck  the  water.  The  crew  pulled  at  the  oars 
with  all  their  might  and  the  little  boat  cut  rapidly 
through  the  water,  which  was  fortunately  almost  as 
smooth  as  a  lake.  It  soon  reached  the  swimmer,  who 
was  now  supporting  himself  on  a  life-preserver  and 
holding  the  woman's  head  out  of  the  water.  They 
were  drawn  into  the  lifeboat  and  it  headed  for  a 
gang-plank  that  had  been  hastily  lowered  forward. 
Within  seven  minutes  from  the  time  it  had  hit  the 
water,  the  lifeboat  was  at  the  landing-stage;  two 
minutes  later  the  ship  was  again  moving  ahead  at  full 
speed.  A  group  of  able  physicians  was  trying  to 


CROSSING  THE  EQUATORIAL  LINE     195 

resuscitate  the  woman  within  less  than  twenty  minutes 
of  the  moment  when  she  left  the  rail.  The  log-book 
record  of  the  accident  is  as  follows : 

1:55  P.  M.     News  reaches  the  bridge. 

1:59    The  reversed  engines  have  stopped  headway. 

2:03    The  ship,  at  full  speed  astern,  is  opposite  the  body. 

2:06    The  ship  stops  and  lifeboat  is  in  the  water. 

2:13    The  lifeboat  is  again  alongside,  with  the  body. 

2:15    Full  steam  ahead. 

To  complete  the  story,  the  woman  could  not  be 
restored  to  consciousness,  although  every  known 
method  was  used  during  the  two  hours  of  effort. 
Young  Jordan  himself  needed  no  medical  attention 
but  assisted  in  trying  to  revive  the  body  that  he  had 
risked  his  own  life  to  save. 

Shy  as  a  schoolgirl,  the  recognized  hero  of  the 
boat  kept  out  of  sight  for  several  days,  but  the  pas- 
sengers declined  to  let  him  sink  back  into  obscurity. 
It  was  quietly  announced  that  two  gentlemen  would 
wait  in  the  dining-salon  after  lunch  on  a  certain  day, 
and  would  receive  contributions  from  those  who  de- 
sired to  present  the  rescuer  with  a  watch  as.  a  memo- 
rial. The  response  was  so  quick  that  the  two  men 
found  themselves  with  $400  on  hand,  and  they  had 
to  cable  to  New  York  for  a  watch  expensive  enough 
to  exhaust  their  funds.  It  met  the  ship  at  Honolulu, 
as  the  cruise  was  nearing  its  end. 

Mr.  Jordan  was  invited  to  step  into  the  dining-salon 
one  afternoon  after  the  ship  sailed.  He  found  him- 
self confronted  by  almost  the  entire  passenger-list, 
and  in  the  presiding  officer's  chair  was  ex-Governor 


196          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

Gray,  of  Alabama,  who  always  knows  how  to  do  a 
handsome  thing  in  a  graceful  way. 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  said  the  Governor,  "you  will  all 
agree  with  me  that,  as  a  rule,  great  heroism  requires  great  in- 
centive. Napoleon  himself  had  a  world  to  conquer  ;  the  intrepid 
Grant  was  saving  a  Republic — the  greatest  that  has  ever  been  or 
ever  will  be  ;  the  chivalric  Lee  was  repelling  an  army  from  his 
own  home  and  that  of  his  forefathers  :  the  gallant  Hobson  saw  a 
brilliant  promotion  ahead  of  him. 

"  In  the  instance  that  we  meet  here  to-day  to  reward,  this  con- 
dition was  lacking.  There  was  no  hope  of  reward,  no  alluring 
benefits  to  be  gained.  A  large  party  of  people  on  a  strange  sea — 
a  cry  of  '  Man  overboard  ! ' — a  speck  of  humanity  floating  upon 
the  waves — and  then  this  young  man  offered  his  life  as  freely  as 
ever  life  was  offered.  It  was  indeed  as  heroic  as  it  was  brave,  and 
as  brave  as  it  was  heroic.  It  has  come  down  to  us  from  inspired 
lips  that  '  Greater  love  hath  no  man  than  this,  that  he  lay  down 
his  life  for  his  friends.'  " 

Then  he  handed  to  the  young  man  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  watches  ever  made.  In  it  is  this  inscription : 

"  To  Marcus  Jordan,  from  his  fellow-passengers  upon  the  steam- 
ship '  Cleveland,'  for  distinguished  bravery  in  the  Strait  of  Banka 
on  December  i6th,  1911." 

The  young  man,  blushing  like  a  girl-graduate,  took 
the  watch  and  started  to  express  his  gratitude.  Half- 
way through  the  first  sentence  he  broke  down.  The 
passengers  went  quietly  out  with  the  assurance  that 
there  had  been  no  lack  of  appreciation. 


JAVA 


XXIII 
IN  THE  MALAY  ARCHIPELAGO 

BATAVIA  is  the  only  city  on  my  map  which  a 
traveller  may  visit  twice  and  come  away  won- 
dering if  he  has  been  there  at  all.  When  you 
first  get  ashore  at  "  Batavia,"  you  see  a  quaint  har- 
bour, a  lot  of  small  steamers,  and  a  line  of  corru- 
gated warehouses — but  this  turns  out  to  be  Tandjong 
Priok.  Here  you  climb  into  what  the  Hollanders 
call  a  train  and  ride  half  an  hour  along  a  canal,  past 
an  old  Chinese  and  Portuguese  cemetery,  and  through 
an  endless  Malay  village.  When  you  get  out  at 
Batavia,  you  find  yourself  in  Weltevreden !  Does  one 
begin  where  the  other  leaves  off?  If  so,  does  the  other 
leave  off  where  the  one  begins?  Is  Batavia  a  trinity, 
or  is  it  a  sandwich?  Or  is  there  such  a  place  on  the 
map?  Go  ask  the  Dutch. 

It  is  supposed  to  rain  thirty-two  days  out  of  every 
month  in  that  part  of  the  universe,  but  the  last  after- 
noon at  sea  was  so  hot  that  you  could  fry  pan-cakes 
on  the  deck.  Upon  the  awnings  beat  the  direct  rays 
of  one  of  the  fiercest  suns,  but  the  angel  of  the  off- 
shore wind  was  kind  and  allowed  the  breezes  of  trop- 
ical islands  to  bless  us  without  even  rippling  the  per- 
fect smoothness  of  a  mother-of-pearl  sea.  Then  the 

197 


198          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

helmsman  gave  the  wheel  some  vigorous  turns  and 
we  veered  toward  Batavia. 

The  sun  went  down  in  such  a  blaze  that  the  least 
poetic  passenger  aboard  stood  in  silent  wonder  at 
the  corner  of  the  promenade  deck,  for  it  was  one  of 
those  equatorial  sunsets  that  awe  the  soul  like  the 
blaze  of  a  great  fire.  Then  came  the  stillness  of  twi- 
light, with  a  silvery  half-moon  and  the  Southern  Cross, 
while  vivid  flashes  of  lightning  flashed  across  the  star- 
board sky.  There  is  nothing  in  Java  so  glorious  as 
the  rising  and  setting  of  its  sun. 

We  reached  Tandjong  Priok  very  early  in  the  morn- 
ing, with  plenty  of  time  to  watch  the  sharks  before  the 
small  steamer  bearing  the  flag  of  Henrik  Hudson 
arrived  to  take  us  off.  On  its  deck  (this  was  on  the 
Eastward  Cruise)  was  your  "  Uncle  Sam  " — high  hat, 
chin-whiskers,  flag-trousers,  and  all.  Instead  of  being 
a  Dutch  compliment,  this  turned  out  to  be  an  Amer- 
ican advertisement  of  cigars — with  a  good  story  back 
of  it.  The  gentleman  in  the  regalia  distributed  cards 
announcing  that  he  was  George  W.  Kriesz,  who  had 
started  from  Denver  on  January  5,  1909,  without 
money,  on  a  wager  that  he  could  go  around  the  world 
"  on  foot  "  within  four  years.  His  agreement  pro- 
hibited him  from  begging,  but  you  were  allowed  to 
pay  as  much  as  you  liked  for  his  picture  post-cards 
or  his  cigars.  He  did  a  rushing  business  that  day. 
I  looked  for  him  all  along  the  line  as  we  came  back 
on  the  Westward  Cruise,  but  he  was  not  to  be  seen. 

Patient  toil  over  maps  and  histories  will  establish 
the  existence  of  Batavia  as  a  fact  and  locate  it  be- 


IN  THE  MALAY  ARCHIPELAGO         199 

tween  Weltevreden  and  the  harbour.  It  is  the  old 
town,  founded  one  year  before  Plymouth,  Mass.,  but 
it  proved  to  be  so  unhealthy  that  the  Dutch  settlers 
telephoned  for  the  moving-van  and  settled  around  that 
tamarind-shaded  square  that  they  call  Koenigsplein. 
Weltevreden  is  apparently  a  "  restricted  "  suburb — 
and  while  it  does  not  exactly  beat  the  Dutch,  it  beats 
everything  except  the  Dutch  in  the  line  of  colonial 
cities. 

In  Manila,  Hong  Kong,  Singapore,  and  the  cities 
of  India,  there  are  beautiful  homes  and  imposing  pal- 
aces built  for  the  alien  white  race,  but  they  are  isolated 
structures.  In  Weltevreden  alone,  so  far  as  this  trav- 
eller's experience  goes,  everything  is  beautiful  and  in 
good  taste.  It  would  seem  to  the  visitor  that  every 
resident  of  this  little  Dutch  city  must  be  wealthy,  for 
there  is  no  section  of  it  that  is  squalid  or  mean.  The 
church  that  catches  your  eye  as  you  alight  at  the 
Koenigsplein  station  is  a  palace  worthy  of  an  Oriental 
prince.  The  first  schoolhouse  that  you  pass  on  the 
way  to  the  heart  of  the  city  is  palatial  as  well  as 
practical  in  its  architecture.  The  private  residences 
are  dreams  of  elegance,  with  their  environment  of 
living  green  and  adornment  of  blossom.  And  the 
hotels  are  unlike  those  of  any  other  Eastern  port — 
collections  of  artistic  and  comfortable  bungalows  where 
the  guest  has  a  little  house  to  himself  instead  of  a 
room! 

Pass  along  the  canal  that  runs  lengthwise  the  main 
street,  after  the  fashion  of  Holland :  every  business 
house  is  worthy  of  place  in  a  city  of  Europe.  Even 


200          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

the  barber-shop  that  I  examined  had  been  designed 
and  ornamented  with  as  much  care  as  if  it  had  been 
intended  as  an  art  museum.  Future  voyagers  in 
search  of  a  hair-cut  are  advised  to  call  at  "  P.  NK- 
KANAPAT  I  en  KANTASAMI."  I  do  not  know 
whether  that  is  the  proprietor's  name  or  something 
to  make  hair  grow  on  bald  heads,  but  it  is  the  sign 
on  the  establishment.  It  should  not  be  confused  with 
Mynheer  J.  de  Leeuw's  "  Hoedenmagazijin,"  for  that 
is  a  place  where  ladies  go  to  buy  things.  Vraagt 
"  Mulhens  "  when  you  need  zeepen,  for  the  simple 
reason  that  "  zij  zijn  de  BESTE!"  (I  get  no  com- 
mission on  your  purchases  of  zeepen,  but  I  should 
appreciate  it  if,  on  your  return,  you  will  tell  me 
whether  you  brought  it  away  in  a  bottle,  a  basket,  or 
a  paper-bag.) 

But  there  was  one  sign  off  here  in  this  out-of-the- 
way  world  that  had  a  familiar  look,  like  a  face  seen 
in  a  crowd  but  which  cannot  be  placed : 


AMERICAN   DRINKS 
RESTAURANT 

GEDURENDE  DEN 
GEHEELEN  DAG 


The  joke  is  on  the  "  Geheelen  Dag,"  if  I  am  correct 
in  guessing  that  this  sign  keeps  the  restaurant  open 


IN  THE  MALAY  ARCHIPELAGO         201 

the  whole  day.  It  is  necessary  to  explain  that  business 
hours  in  Weltevreden  are  from  8  A.  M.  to  12  130  and 
from  5  to  7  P.  M.  This  allows  only  four  and  a  half 
hours  for  lunch,  but  you  should  remember  also  that 
nearly  everybody  goes  driving  at  4:30  and  lets  the 
evening  business  hours  go  hang.  This  fact  being  duly 
established,  I  wish  to  remark  that  anything  American 
(even  drinks)  that  can  keep  a  Weltevreden  establish- 
ment open  den  Geheelen  Dag  is  something  to  be  proud 
of. 

This  Java  is  a  wonder-land  to  the  traveller  who 
comes  from  the  setting-sun  country.  The  island  is 
full  of  interesting  places  and  queer  peoples  for  those 
who  like  driving  and  exploring,  while  there  are  vol- 
canoes for  the  venturesome  and  antiquities  for  the 
scientific.  But  to  me  the  most  fascinating  feature 
of  the  landscape  is  the  smiling  face  of  its  people. 
Think  what  you  will  about  the  peculiar  methods  of 
colonization  which  the  Dutch  have  followed  here  in 
their  "  Insulinde,"  they  have  brought  happiness  and 
prosperity  to  the  lowest  classes.  After  the  sullen  or 
pitiful  faces  of  the  Hindus  have  faded  away  in  the 
wake  of  the  eastward  voyage,  it  is  a  glad  surprise  to 
happen  upon  a  dependent  people  that  is  so  care-free 
and  blithesome  as  that  which  you  see  in  and  around 
Batavia. 

The  welcome  which  they  had  in  their  hearts  for 
the  travellers  was  foreshadowed  at  the  railway  station 
by  the  spontaneous  clapping  and  cheering  of  scores 
of  school-children — and  it  was  not  a  welcome  to  pro- 
spective shoppers,  either,  for  you  cannot  buy  much  in 


202          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

Batavia  except  drinks  and  sarongs  and  funny  little 
dolls  and  gaudily  painted  tigers  that  you  lead  around 
with  a  string  like  a  wagonette.  The  Javanese  were 
genuinely  glad  to  see  us,  and  the  memory  of  their 
welcome  is  the  more  refreshing  because  there  were 
not  many  places  in  the  world  where  it  happened. 

It  is  worth  the  long  swing  to  the  southward  just 
to  catch  a  glimpse  of  what  Holland  is  doing  here  in 
this  hot  and  rainy  part  of  the  footstool.  Its  island 
empire  is  peopled  with  fierce,  hot-headed  races,  yet 
nowhere  in  the  great  circle  will  you  find  so  many 
well-fed,  good-humoured  natives  as  here.  Everybody 
wears  good  clothes  and  a  contented  look — and  that 
is  indeed  a  rare  spectacle  east  of  Suez. 

Between  Manila  Bay  and  the  Bay  of  Naples,  Ba- 
tavia was  the  only  port  of  call  that  did  not  fly  the 
British  ensign.  The  sturdy  stock  of  Teutons  that  is 
there  entrenched  have  made  no  great  ado  about  its 
destiny  as  an  empire-builder,  or  its  predestination  to 
colonial  government.  But  the  Hollanders  have  learned 
how  to  make  a  slothful  and  impulsive  race  contented 
under  an  alien  flag — and  many  of  those  who  wrestle 
with  the  problems  of  colonization  would  do  well  to 
make  the  journey  across  the  earth  just  to  see  that  this 
one  of  the  great  tasks  can  be  happily  worked  out. 

Poverty  there  is  in  Java,  and  plentiful  lack  of 
thrift,  as  in  all  lands  and  particularly  in  those  where 
the  sun  shines  so  hotly  and  the  rain  falls  so  persist- 
ently. But  the  smiling  faces  of  the  lowest  estate  tell 
the  story. 

Now  "  J-a-v-a "  spells  coffee  to  people  who  have 


IN  THE  MALAY  ARCHIPELAGO         203 

never  been  there — but  try  this  over  on  your  piano: 

The  Coffee  Fiend  (he  who  sat  next  the  blithesome 
widow  with  the  soul-mate  look  in  her  eyes,  in  the 
forward  dining-salon)  sipped  his  morning  coffee  as 
the  big  steamship  floated  idly  in  the  harbour  of  Tand- 
jong  Priok,  waiting  for  the  O.  K.  of  the  quarantine 
doctor.  An  expression  of  deeper  resignation  came 
over  his  face  with  each  sip. 

"  To-day,  thank  heaven,  we  shall  have  real  coffee 
at  the  Hotel  der  Nederlanden !  "  he  said. 

"  Why,  I  thought  you  liked  this  coffee !  "  answered 
the  widow.  "  You  have  been  praising  it  ever  since 
we  left  Gibraltar." 

"  Oh,  it's  all  right,  as  coffee  goes,  but  we  are  in 
coffee's  own  home  now.  Ashore  to-day  we  shall  have 
the  real  thing — Java  without  Mocha  or  Mecca  or 
chickory  or  roasted  peas." 

"  Tea  for  mine,  every  time,"  replied  the  lady. 

"  That  is  because  you  are  a  fiend  about  tea.  Do 
you  remember  that  special  brew  of  Darjeeling  tea  on 
our  return  from  Tiger  Hill?" 

"  I  most  certainly  do." 

"  Well,  all  tea  is  to  Darjeeling  tea  what  all  coffee 
is  to  Java  coffee." 

'  Then  I  shall  expect  you  to  go  on  a  regular  coffee 
debauch,"  said  the  widow,  as  she  left  the  table. 
"  When  you  sip  your  brunette  beverage,  remember 
me !  "  And  she  went  out  with  an  encouraging  smile. 

The  Coffee  Fiend  lost  no  time  in  getting  ashore  and 
climbing  into  the  toy  train  that  runs  through  slushy 
swamps  and  rice-paddies  to  beautiful  Weltevreden. 


204          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

At  the  station  he  transferred  to  that  distinctly  Java- 
nese institution  known  as  the  dos-a~dos. 

Literally  translated — for  no  free-and-easy  transla- 
tion is  appropriate  to  a  vehicle  that  is  neither  free  nor 
easy — this  is  a  back-to-back  two-wheeler  that  was  de- 
signed by  some  half-witted  carriage-maker  to  carry 
three  persons.  One  sits  with  the  driver  while  the 
other  two  crawl  in  behind  and  "  back  up  "  against 
the  two  on  the  front  seat.  Every  movement  of  the 
pony  and  every  rough  place  in  the  road  transmit  the 
jolt  to  the  luckless  passengers,  who  might  forget  some 
of  their  discomfort  were  it  not  that  the  low-hanging 
canopy-top  shuts  off  all  view  of  the  scenery.  It  is 
"  the  limit "  of  human  conveyance  found  around  the 
world,  the  ox-sleds  of  Funchal  not  excepted. 

Around  the  mile-square  parade  ground  of  Koenigs- 
plein  jolted  and  bumped  the  dos-a-dos,  passing  colonial 
villas  that  seemed  like  little  Moghul  palaces  half- 
hidden  in  an  emerald-green  of  vegetation  that  is 
equalled  only  in  Ceylon. 

"And  to  think,"  mused  the  Coffee  Fiend,  "that 
all  these  people  can  have  Java  coffee  three  times  a 
day!" 

The  dos-a-dos  finally  stopped  in  front  of  a  palatial 
building  of  pure  white,  with  a  huge  black  elephant 
on  a  lofty  pedestal  on  the  spacious  lawn. 

"  Hotel  der  Nederlanden  ?  "  asked  the  Coffee  Taster. 

"  Nay,"  answered  the  Malay  cheerfully.  "  Museum." 

"Oh,  h— 1!    Drive  on!" 

But  the  Malay  made  it  plain  that  he  was  not  per- 
mitted to  pass  the  vehicles  ahead  of  him,  so  the  Coffee 


IN  THE  MALAY  ARCHIPELAGO         205 

Fiend  had  to  go  in  and  pass  the  time  in  that  pride 
of  Batavia's  heart — a  great  collection  of  diversified 
junk  from  all  over  the  Malay  Archipelago,  everything 
that  the  Dutch  have  captured,  confiscated,  or  bought 
during  their  occupation  of  Insulinde.  But  the  exhibit 
awakened  no  enthusiasm  in  the  soul  of  the  man  to 
whom  Java  was  a  fountain  of  coffee. 

It  was  all  over  at  last,  and  his  dos-a-dos  drove  into 
the  court  of  the  Hotel  der  Nederlanden.  But  it  was 
more  like  a  street  than  a  court,  for  a  Batavia  hotel 
is  a  peculiar  institution.  On  either  side  you  see  a  row 
of  one-story  bungalows,  detached  but  with  a  covered 
sidewalk  extending  along  their  front.  About  half- 
way down  the  line,  in  one  of  the  cottages,  is  the  hotel- 
office,  but  you  must  have  a  guide  to  find  it.  At  the 
end  of  the  street  is  a  large  building  with  individual 
rooms  and  with  a  dining-room  that  will  seat  four  hun- 
dred people.  This,  which  you  take  to  be  the  hotel 
proper,  is  merely  the  annex  for  banquets  and  balls; 
the  hotel  is  the  street  of  bungalows,  and  it  is  a  dream 
of  a  place  in  which  to  forget  that  there  is  such  a 
thing  as  work. 

Here  in  the  big  dining-room,  at  one  of  the  twenty 
long  tables  decorated  with  American  emblems,  the 
widow  found  the  Coffee  Fiend — disconsolately,  silently, 
but  rapidly  working  his  way  through  the  menu. 

"  How  is  the  coffee?  "  she  asked,  as  she  swished  her 
silken  skirts  past  his  chair. 

"  Coffee !  "  he  exclaimed  indignantly.  "  These  peo- 
ple wouldn't  know  a  grain  of  coffee  if  they  found 
it  in  the  soup !  " 


206          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

"  That's  too  bad !  It  doesn't  look  very  strong,"  she 
said,  peering  into  his  cup. 

"That  isn't  coffee!"  he  snorted.     "That  is  tea." 

"Tea!  You  drinking  tea  in  Java,  the  home  of 
coffee?" 

"  Well,  I  have  to  drown  my  sorrow  in  something 
wet — and  a  drunk  man  wouldn't  drink  what  they  call 
coffee  in  this  hotel !  " 

Half  an  hour  later,  the  Fiend  was  heard  enquiring 
about  the  next  train  for  Taiidjong  Priok,  and  to  his 
great  joy  he  found  that  he  could  reach  the  Cleveland 
in  time  for  afternoon  coffee. 

There  is  a  deep,  dark  mystery  about  this  Java  coffee 
proposition.  In  Batavia  is  an  official  Tourist  Bureau, 
a  Government  institution  where  they  speak  that  strange 
language  that  is  called  English.  The  Bureau  issues  a 
booklet  wherein  is  recorded  that  Java  produces  about 
35*650,000  pounds  of  coffee  annually.  Yet  the  gentle- 
man in  charge  could  give  me  no  information  about 
coffee  whatsoever.  He  seemed  to  be  under  the  im- 
pression that  there  was  such  a  product — or  had  been 
— but  he  did  not  know  in  what  district  it  is  grown. 
If  the  above  figures  of  production  be  correct,  my  guess 
is  that  35,649,999  pounds  are  exported,  leaving  one 
pound  to  provide  colonists  and  travellers  with  such 
coffee  as  is  brewed  in  the  finest  hotel  in  the  capital. 


•* 


XXIV 
INSULINDE'S  EMERALD  PARADISE 

A>K  any  of  those  who  went  to  Buitenzorg,  on 
either  cruise,  what  was  the  most  remarkable 
thing    that    he    saw.     Answer :     "  That    bum 
lunch !  " 

And  it  surely  was  bum.  It  yet  looms  up  on  the 
world's  horizon  and  forms  a  tie  of  human  sympathy 
among  all  those  who  have  gone  on  pilgrimage  to  this 
quaint  little  mountain  town  down  under  the  Equator. 
For  it  was  the  poorest  excuse  that  civilized  man 
ever  offered  other  civilized  men  in  the  shape  of 
food,  and  it  was  served  beneath  a  pavilion  that 
overlooked  one  of  the  sublimest  valleys  that  the 
Creator  of  tropical  scenery  ever  designed.  But  if 
the  Government  wrould  only  plant  a  few  trees  that 
produce  boxes  of  sardines  and  hard-boiled  eggs,  the 
traveller's  appreciation  of  both  pavilion  and  valley 
would  be  greatly  increased. 

From  Tandjong  Priok  to  Buitenzorg  is  a  beautiful 
ride  of  an  hour  and  a  half  through  a  tropical  jungle. 
Buitenzorg  is  the  official  residence  of  the  Governor- 
General  and  of  the  Botanical  Garden,  a  fact  which 
seems  to  indicate  that  neither  requires  much  nourish- 
ment but  needs  a  great  deal  of  moisture — for  it  rains 
219  days  of  the  year,  according  to  the  press-agent. 

207 


208          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

The  Botanical  Garden  is  all  that  such  an  institu- 
tion ought  to  be — marvellously  beautiful  and  decorated 
with  botanical  labels  that  no  self-respecting  travellers 
can  translate.  Here  I  saw  a  superb  specimen  of 

Now  what  was  it  that  I  saw?  Was  it  a  Xanthcer- 
rcea  freissi,  or  a  Fiats  religiose,  or  a  Pulex  irritansf 
Anyway,  I  saw  it. 

But  the  little  kiddies  with  Malay  labels  on  them — 
ah,  they  were  the  peacherinas!  They  swarmed  about 
us  at  the  hotels  like  Sunday-school  picnickers  at 
luncheon-time — sparkling-eyed  little  beauties  in  clean, 
bright-coloured  frocks,  happy  as  baby  butterflies.  If 
the  press-agent  of  the  Buitenzorg  section  were  earning 
his  salary,  he  would  be  giving  to  them  some  of  the 
space  that  he  wastes  on  such  things  as  the  XantJicer- 
rcca,  for  there  is  nothing  sweeter  in  Java  except  the 
sugar-cane. 

But  I  am  speaking  now  of  the  little-bitsy  girls,  not 
of  the  maidens  who  made  the  dance  out  in  front  of 
the  hotel.  They  also  may  be  irresistible  to  those  who 
are  educated  up  to  that  level,  but  the  dancers  were 
most  attractive  to  me  while  they  kept  the  masks  on. 
But  professional  dancers  are  rarely  dreams  of  beauty 
when  observed  in  the  bright  sunlight  at  a  distance  of 
three  feet.  With  their  light  and  decidedly  fantastic 
toes,  these  danseuses  made  a  great  hit  with  the  little 
Malay  girlies,  so  it  was  worth  it,  after  all. 

Oh,  yes!  Speaking  about  Java  coffee,  I  saw  some 
coffee-bushes  here  in  the  Botanical  Garden,  along  with 
the  Xanthcerrcea  and  other  rare  and  curious  plants. 


r*  V."«    "I 


XXV 
A  NEW  FLAG  IN  MANILA  BAY 

IT  was  Christmas  Eve  in  Manila  Bay.  The  Cleve- 
land, after  two  days  at  Pier  5,  was  slowly  creep- 
ing into  the  narrow  neck  of  the  Boca  Grande 
Channel,  between  Corregidor  Island  and  the  promon- 
tory of  Luzon,  and  was  heading  for  the  China  Sea. 
A  brilliant  sunset  of  burnished  gold  and  carmine  and 
magenta  had  toned  down  into  a  sombre  afterglow, 
and  the  deepening  shadows  of  the  overhanging  head- 
lands on  either  side  were  quickly  bringing  the  dark. 

The  Man  with  the  Missouri  Disposition  lounged 
against  the  rail  out  on  the  forecastle  deck,  silently 
watching  a  small  light  on  top  of  a  little  pyramid  that 
was  silhouetted  against  the  faint  glow  that  marked 
the  spot  where  the  December  sun  had  dropped  into 
the  China  Sea. 

"  That  rock,"  he  said  reminiscently,  "  is  El  Fraile. 
A  7-inch  gun  up  there  fired  the  first  shot  in  the  battle 
of  Manila  Bay,  and  the  ball  flew  between  the  main 
and  the  mizzen  masts  of  the  Concord,  1,600  yards  be- 
hind the  Olympia." 

"  How  did  you  come  to  know  so  much  ?  "  asked  the 
(involuntarily)  Retired  Politician. 

"  I  read  it  in  a  book  to-day,"  said  the  Missourian. 
209 


210          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

"  Well,  all  I've  got  to  say  is — it's  a  pity  that  shot 
didn't  stop  Dewey  and  head  off  our  problem  in  the 
Philippines." 

"  What  you  got  against  the  Philippines  ?  "  demanded 
he  with  the  to-be-shown  temperament. 

"  Everything.  We  had  the  glory  of  taking  'em, 
and  now  we've  got  'em.  But  what  the  devil  are  we 
going  to  do  with  them?  " 

"  Didn't  you  see  what  we're  doing  with  them  ?  It's 
one  of  the  finest  jobs  in  the  world." 

"For  instance?"  asked  the  Politician. 

"  Everything  nearly.  I  am  not  shouting  it  from 
the  housetops,  but  I  don't  mind  telling  you  that  I  feel 
considerably  puffed  up  over  what  I  saw." 

"For  instance,  I  say?" 

"  All  right.  That  Constabulary  Band  on  the  launch, 
since  that  was  the  first  thing  that  met  us.  It  was  the 
best  music  that  we've  heard  since  we  left  New  York, 
and  that's  something  10,000  miles  out  here  in  the 
Pacific.  That  Rajputana  bunch  at  Agra  and  those 
wind-jammers  at  the  Singapore  hotel — that  music 
didn't  make  your  throat  lumpy  like  '  Star  and  Stripes 
Forever '  from  the  horns  of  the  little  brown  fellows 
in  American  khaki." 

"  The  band  was  good  stuff,  all  right,"  admitted  the 
Politician.  "  But  how  does  that  ramshackle  post- 
office  stack  up  alongside  the  post-office  in  Singapore  ?  " 

"  A  darn  sight  better  than  the  landing-place  for 
steamers  in  any  British  port  stacks  up  alongside  Pier  5 
in  Manila,"  replied  the  man  from  east  of  Kansas. 
"  And  there  in  plain  sight  was  the  big  cold-storage 


A  NEW  FLAG  IN  MANILA  BAY         211 

plant,  which  shows  where  the  American  puts  the  em- 
phasis in  a  hot  country.  Besides,  you  must  remember 
that  the  Englishman  in  Singapore  has  been  at  it  since 
1819;  we  appeared  on  the  Luneta  in  1898:  subtract 
and  you  have  the  difference." 

"  But  that  dust  in  the  streets  of  Manila — you  don't 
see  anything  like  that  in  a  British  town?"  said  the 
Stump  Orator. 

"You  don't?  Have  you  forgotten  those  chaps  in 
nightshirts  that  went  around  Calcutta,  pouring  water 
on  the  streets  from  a  goat-skin  bag,  or  from  a  big 
watering-pot  in  Rangoon?  I  am  not  the  official  lec- 
turer on  Manila,  but  I  could  talk  for  an  hour  about 
the  things  that  are  done  better.  I  didn't  see  every- 
thing, but  I  had  a  friend  take  me  out  and  show  me 
the  worst." 

"  And  what  was  the  worst  ?  " 

"  There  wasn't  any.  The  streets  were  nearly  as 
clean  as  sidewalks  ought  to  be.  There  was  no  dirty 
native  town  to  display  as  one  of  the  '  sights.'  There 
were  no  beggars,  no  scabby-headed  children,  no  fester- 
ing eyes  festooned  with  flies,  no  cholera  or  plague. 
And  say,  do  you  know  what  Manila  was  like  when 
we  took  it  ?  " 

"  No,  and  you  don't  either." 

"  The  objection  is  sustained,  but  I'm  proud  of  the 
Philippines,  just  the  same.  And  I'm  proud  of  the 
strong- faced,  clean-looking  soldiers,  even  if  their  dingy 
khaki  doesn't  light  up  the  sky  like  the  regalia  of  a 
Gordon  Highlander  in  scarlet  and  plaid.  And  say, 
the  Manila  policeman — ain't  he  a  wonder?  I  wanted 


212          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

to  hug  one  big  fellow  up  there  in  the  Calle  San 
Sebastian.  I  asked  him  how  far  it  was  to  the 
Bridge  of  Spain.  He  looked  up  at  the  sky  and  said, 
*  It's  a  right  smart  piece ! '  I  think  the  Tennessee 
regiment  must  have  left  him  behind." 

"  But  what  do  you  think  of  the  Filipino,  now  that 
you  have  seen  him  at  home  ?  " 

"  I'm  for  him,  from  now  on.  '  The  little  brown 
brother '  used  to  be  a  good  deal  of  a  joke  to  me,  but 
I  am  a  changed  man.  He  is  not  as  big  as  the  Sikh, 
but  he's  got  better  stuff  in  him.  He  is  cleaner  and 
better  dressed  and  has  a  better  disposition  than  the 
north-India  rabble.  And  he's  a  million  miles  ahead 
of  the  Hindu  or  Burma  nigger,  and  ahead  of  every- 
thing else  over  here  except  the  Jap.  If  you  ever  hear 
me  say  anything  against  the  little  brown  brother 
again 

"Or  the  little  brown  sister?"  asked  the  Politician. 

The  man  who  had  been  shown  drew  a  deep  breath. 
"  You  know  I  was  born  pretty  far  down  toward  the 
Gulf  of  Mexico — down  where  everything  that  isn't 
pure  white  is  black.  But  when  I  strolled  along  the 
Escolta  and  saw  those  dainty  little  bare-headed  ladies, 
with  their  starchy,  transparent  half -sleeves,  they  looked 
good  to  me.  I  felt  like  saying:  *  You're  the  sweetest 
thing  in  the  woman  line  on  this  side  of  the  sea.'  And 
I  felt  the  same  way  about  the  little  kiddies " 

"Especially  the  girl-kiddies?" 

"  Especially  not.  The  whole  bunch  of  them.  The 
raw  material  is  in  them.  I  watched  one  little  chap  who 
was  badly  hurt,  up  there  in  the  Plaza  del  Carmen.  A 


A  NEW  FLAG  IN  MANILA  BAY         213 

big  policeman  found  out  where  he  lived,  put  him  into 
a  carromata,  told  the  driver  where  to  take  him — and 
paid  the  bill.  And  the  little  lad  sat  up  there  on  the 
seat  with  blood  running  down  his  face,  and  never 
uttered  a  whimper.  I  know  some  children  who  would 
have  yelled  for  three  hours." 

There  was  some  more  to  the  conversation,  but  we 
must  be  hurrying  along.  But  before  we  go  into 
Manila,  let  us  run  up  the  Pasig  with  Gertrude  and 
Helen  and  see  what  the  outside  looks  like.  (It  is  not 
so  romantic  as  it  sounds,  for  "  Gertrude "  and 
"  Helen "  are  two  of  the  steam  launches  that  took 
us  up  the  river.) 

You  have  heard  of  the  Pasig — you  whose  sons  or 
brothers  or  sweethearts  were  sweltering  out  here  on 
the  firing-line  in  the  mire  of  the  marshes  and  rice-fields 
just  after  the  Pacific  Squadron  had  made  obsolete  that 
phrase  which  says :  "  The  United  States  is  bounded 
on  the  west  by  the  Pacific  Ocean."  It  isn't  much  of 
a  river,  but  it  is  picturesque  and  historic  and  ours — 
three  good  reasons  for  going  up  it. 

Curving  in  from  the  bay,  two  small  beacons  guide 
us  into  the  straight  and  narrow  channel  that  leads  past 
the  Quartermaster's  warehouses  and  old  Fort  Santi- 
ago— grim  sentinel  of  forgotten  days  when  Malay  and 
Chinese  pirates  kept  Manila  shut  in  behind  the  grass- 
grown  ramparts  of  Intramuros.  (Now  the  pirates  are 
in  the  American  town  on  the  other  side,  but  that  is 
another  story.)  This  old  walled  city  of  Intramuros 
stands  between  the  Pasig  and  the  bay  and  resembles 
what  New  York  calls  Downtown  and  the  Battery. 


214,          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

On  the  right  are  the  light-draught  interisland 
steamers,  but  they  stop  short  at  the  low  Bridge  of 
Spain.  Bridge  of  Spain — how  long  ago  seems  that 
day  when  we  first  met  the  name  as  we  looked  up 
"  Manila "  in  the  encyclopaedia  to  see  what  it  was 
that  Dewey  had  captured !  Across  that  ancient  thor- 
oughfare passes  the  same  stream  of  Filipinos  on  foot 
and  in  two-wheeled  carabao  carts,  dodging  the  Amer- 
ican carriage  and  the  trolley-car  which  forms  such  a 
striking  silhouette  as  we  pass  beneath  the  bridge. 

The  farther  up  you  go,  the  better  it  gets.  In  the 
early  morning  the  river  is  alive  with  the  little  craft 
of  the  Filipinos,  loaded  with  every  sort  of  product 
that  can  be  exchanged  in  the  market  for  pesos  and 
centavos.  Most  of  the  boats  are  of  two  types — the 
casco  and  the  banca.  The  casco  is  a  long  sampan 
(some  of  them  must  be  6o-footers)  propelled  by  bam- 
boo poles.  The  families  of  the  crew  live  on  board 
and  their  residence  is  roofed  over  with  nipa  matting 
so  placed  at  the  stern  that  it  looks  like  a  prairie 
schooner  that  has  passed  through  a  dust  storm  imme- 
diately after  a  shower.  These  boats  are  often  frescoed 
with  white,  yellow,  and  blue  paint  and  the  decorations 
recall  the  "  flower-boats  "  of  Canton,  although  art  on 
the  Pasig  has  not  yet  attained  to  the  lofty  altitude  of 
art  on  the  Pearl  River.  When  covered  from  stem  to 
stern  with  the  matting,  the  boat  creeps  along  like  a 
huge,  jointed  worm. 

The  banca  is  more  of  a  passenger-boat.  It  is  a  frail 
canoe  hewn  from  a  large  tree,  and  is  so  tipsy  that  a 
passenger  must  have  the  fillings  in  his  teeth  exactly 


A  NEW  FLAG  IN  MANILA  BAY         215 

balanced  to  keep  from  spilling  himself  out.  When 
the  banca  is  long  and  laden  with  six  or  eight  passen- 
gers, each  with  a  paddle,  it  looks  like  an  African  war- 
canoe. 

But  the  dredges  of  the  Pasig — do  you  remember 
them  ?  Not  the  big  steam  dredges  that  are  pulling  the 
bottom  of  the  river  out  down  below  the  Bridge,  but 
the  long  casco  dredges  higher  up.  The  process  of 
dredging  certainly  did  not  come  over  with  the  flag. 
The  Filipinos  who  compose  the  crew  stand  in  water 
up  to  their  arm-pits  on  each  side  of  the  big  canoe. 
Each  man  has  a  bamboo  basket  which  he  pushes  down 
to  the  bottom  of  the  river  and  holds  with  one  foot 
while  the  other  scoops  the  silt  into  it.  When  it  is 
full,  he  lets  go  the  side  of  the  boat  and  sinks  beneath 
the  surface.  When  he  comes  up  sputtering  a  few 
seconds  later,  he  has  the  basket  in  his  arms.  The  silt 
is  dumped  into  the  boat  and  the  operation  repeated 
until  the  boat  is  rilled. 

This  is  a  fair  sample  of  the  primitive  scenes  that 
confront  you  on  either  hand  all  the  way  up  the  river. 
Here,  it  is  a  tread-mill,  with  two  men  walking  up  and 
down  as  though  on  an  escalator — with  umbrellas  held 
over  them.  Yonder,  it  is  a  herd  of  carabaos  taking 
their  siesta  in  the  river.  That  may  not  be  a  very  thrill- 
ing spectacle,  but  where  else  have  you  seen  two  horns 
and  a  nose  sticking  out  of  the  water  and  a  naked 
Filipino  boy  sitting  placidly  (apparently  upon  the  sur- 
face of  the  water)  about  five  feet  back  of  the  nose? 
The  Pasig  is  also  full  of  Filipinos  in  the  early  hours 
of  the  morning.  You  may  see  the  family- wash  drying 


216          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

out  on  the  clothes-line  while  the  family  itself  is  splash- 
ing the  water.  The  Filipino  certainly  needs  not  to  go 
to  bed  while  his  clothes  are  in  the  wash ! 

Now  what  is  the  most  wonderful  thing  in  the  city 
of  Manila  itself?  Opinions  differ  widely,  but  if  a 
vote  were  taken  on  board  it  would  probably  show  that 
the  most  joyous  spot  in  the  city  is  that  corner  bazaar 
where  you  can  get  the  same  ice-cream  soda  that  you 
were  raised  on.  The  streets  are  more  dusty  than 
mirthful,  and  the  bustle  and  noise  of  the  place  drive 
one  into  the  suburbs  unless  he  or  she  must  shop  in 
spite  of  the  high  prices  of  everything.  And,  by  the 
way,  if  you  are  disposed  to  grumble  at  home  about  the 
cost  of  living,  ask  one  of  the  American  merchants  of 
Manila  to  give  you  an  itemized  list  of  his  household 
expenses  for  one  month. 

But  if  you  ask  me  what  is  the  most  interesting  thing 
in  Manila,  I  answer  without  hesitation — Bilibid  Prison. 
It  is  the  largest  prison  under  the  American  flag,  but 
there  is  no  especial  glory  in  that.  But  it  is  a  place 
where  convicts  are  regarded  as  factory  hands  during 
the  day  and  treated  as  soldiers  in  barracks  after  work- 
ing hours.  There  is  no  lock-step,  no  corporal  punish- 
ment, no  silent  and  gloomy  cell — and  yet  nine  out  of 
ten  of  the  prisoners  are  wearing  the  uniforms  of  good- 
conduct  men,  and  half  of  these  are  100  per  cent.  men. 
And  when  his  term  is  finished,  the  convict  does  not 
depart  with  the  stigma  of  penal  servitude  clinging  to 
him  like  the  mark  of  Cain,  but  goes  in  the  assurance 
that  a  good  job  awaits  him  in  almost  any  part  of  the 
Philippines.  And  not  the  least  remarkable  fact  about 


LITTLE  BROWN  SISTER  ACROSS  THE  SEA 


A  NEW  FLAG  IN  MANILA  BAY         217 

Bilibid  is  its  stationery;  the  letter-head  shows  that  the 
Bureau  of  Prisons  is  a  bureau  of  the  Department  of 
Public  Instruction! 

I  saw  Bilibid  first  at  evening  parade,  as  the  sun  was 
dropping  behind  Corregidor  and  the  palms  were 
a-tremble  with  the  first  cool  breeze  of  a  stifling  day. 
Think  of  a  wagon-wheel  whose  spokes  are  long  dormi- 
tories, and  whose  hub  is  a  lofty  tower  commanding  a 
view  of  every  square  foot  of  the  enclosure.  I  was 
standing  upon  a  balcony  of  the  observation  tower,  and 
just  above  stood  Colonel  L.  A.  Dorrington,  the  Di- 
rector. It  was  4 14.0  P.  M.  and  not  a  prisoner  was  visi- 
ble in  all  the  seventeen  acres  of  space.  There  was  no 
sound  of  voice  or  footstep — nothing  to  indicate  that 
I  was  in  the  midst  of  a  village  of  5,017  men  and 
women. 

Just  as  the  minute-hand  of  the  tower-clock  reached 
4 145,  sixty-eight  honour  men  swung  into  view,  silently 
marching  down  their  company  street  in  columns  of 
fours.  They  heeded  a  low  word  of  command,  halted 
in  front  of  the  tower,  and  saluted  the  Commanding 
Officer.  It  was  the  prison  band. 

The  Director  gave  a  signal,  and  from  the  snare- 
drums  came  three  short,  sharp  rolls.  Instantly,  from 
every  spoke  of  the  wheel,  poured  forth  a  swarm  of 
men,  in  uniforms  denoting  the  various  degrees  of  good 
conduct.  They  aligned  in  squads  with  a  leader  as  a 
sergeant,  and  went  through  the  calisthenic  drill  of  the 
American  army,  keeping  perfect  time  to  the  beat  of 
the  music. 

Then  followed  an  impressive  scene.     The  cornets 


218          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

and  bugles  sounded  "  retreat "  (the  army  call  that 
marks  the  closing  day)  and  then  the  full  force  of 
the  sixty-eight  instruments  sounded  the  first  measure 
of  "  The  Star  Spangled  Banner."  With  marvellous 
precision,  the  long  rows  of  men  removed  their  hats 
and  held  them  to  the  left  breast  until  the  national  an- 
them was  finished.  It  is  a  ceremony  to  remind  the 
prisoner  that  he  is  not  an  outcast  of  society  but  a 
protege  of  the  flag  before  which  he  stands  in  salute. 

From  the  first  hour  that  I  spent  in  Manila  I  was 
profoundly  grateful  that  I  did  not  have  to  live  there; 
and  when  the  last  hour  was  past,  this  feeling  was  in- 
tensified. I  am  proud  of  what  we  have  done  to  make 
life  worth  living  to  the  Filipino,  but  I  doubt  if  life 
is  worth  it  to  the  American — unless  he  has  plenty  of 
money  and  an  inspiring  task  to  work  out.  And  for 
the  American  woman  who  must  live  there  I  have  the 
utmost  sympathy. 

But  the  American  sense  of  humour  survives  even 
the  conditions  of  life,  and  the  Manila  Chamber  of 
Commerce  is  its  chief  exponent.  Long  before  we 
arrived  on  the  first  cruise,  the  wireless  was  exhorting 
us  to  organize  by  states  so  that  we  might  each  be 
labelled  and  entertained  during  our  stay  in  the  city. 
We  organized.  Men  with  state  labels  came  out  in 
launches  and  pinned  them  on  us.  Then  we  marched 
down  the  gang-plank  and  waited  for  something  to 
happen.  By-and-by  it  dawned  on  us  that  it  was  a 
Philippine  joke,  whereupon  we  went  out  and  enter- 
tained ourselves  until  the  time  when  the  tourist  pro- 
gramme should  begin. 


A  NEW  FLAG  IN  MANILA  BAY         219 

On  the  second  cruise,  I  allowed  an  effusive  gentle- 
man to  pin  "  New  York  "  on  my  coat,  but  I  did  not 
get  worked  up  about  it.  Then  I  loitered  around  the 
pier  until  this  became  monotonous.  Finally  I  went  out 
to  charter  a  little  carromata  that  would  take  me  to  the 
post-office.  Not  one  was  in  sight.  I  could  scarcely 
believe  my  eyes,  for  all  the  Chamber  of  Commerce 
knew  we  were  coming,  and  when.  Then  I  walked  in 
the  direction  of  the  car-line,  expecting  to  see  a  line 
of  cars  waiting  to  load  up  with  American  visitors. 
There  was  no  sound  of  the  trolley's  hum.  I  walked 
back  to  the  pier,  made  a  few  enquiries,  and  caught  on. 
By  a  singular  coincidence,  the  vehicles  banked  up 
around  the  dock  were  livery  rigs!  How  did  they 
happen  to  know  that  we  were  coming  in  at  that  hour? 
Ask  the  Chamber  of  Commerce.  They  will  tell  you 
that  the  foregoing  does  not  represent  the  situation — 
but  my  notebook  records  the  fact  that  I  paid  $1.75 
to  get  to  the  post-office.  And  if  you  think  that  I 
either  scorned  or  overlooked  a  more  economical  way 
of  getting  there,  you  have  another  guess.  (And  if 
you  think  I  make  a  fuss  about  $1.75  when  no  principle 
is  involved,  you  have  still  another.  But  I  do  yell 
when  I  get  caught  in  a  hold-up  game.) 

Do  you  remember  a  certain  vote  of  thanks  that  the 
second  cruise  extended  to  the  City  of  Manila,  as  rep- 
resented by  the  Chamber  of  Commerce?  And  the  in- 
dignation of  certain  enthusiastic  passengers  over  an 
interview  that  the  Manila  Times  had  with  the  author 
of  this  book,  wherein  he  expressed  his  feelings  as  an 
American,  as  requested  by  the  genial  Irishman  who 


220          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

sits  in  the  editorial  chair  of  the  Times — and  did  so 
under  his  own  name  ?  Then  listen. 

It  is  not  true  that  the  Chamber  of  Commerce  pro- 
vided those  launches  on  the  Pasig,  or  those  automo- 
biles that  whisked  you  away  on  beautiful  drives.  And 
who  was  it  that  paid  for  the  gay  bunting  that  deco- 
rated the  wharf?  And  who  paid  one  of  the  Manila 
citizens  100  pesos  for  his  services  in  welcoming  the 
passengers,  after  he  had  asked  for  150?  And  who, 
on  a  former  cruise,  was  asked  to  pay  for  the  auto- 
mobiles that  the  officials  themselves  used?  Probably 
the  City  of  Manila  does  not  know  the  answer,  but  the 
receipted  bills  show. 

However,  that  interview  in  the  Times  was  read  in 
Manila,  and  it  is  safe  to  predict  that  some  things  that 
have  happened  will  not  happen  on  the  next  cruise.  A 
different  type  of  citizen  will  represent  the  Chamber 
of  Commerce — men  of  the  high  grade  that  engineered 
our  welcome  in  Honolulu,  without  presenting  a  bill 
for  services  voluntarily  offered  to  visiting  country- 
men. The  fizzle  of  Manila's  reception  is  probably 
not  due  to  the  Chamber  of  Commerce  at  all,  though  it 
is  of  course  blamable  for  entrusting  an  important  pub- 
lic service  to  irresponsible  men  who  were  quite  under- 
grown  for  the  job. 

But  even  the  Chamber  of  Commerce  cannot  keep 
me  from  being  proud  of  what  we  are  doing  under 
the  new  flag  in  Manila  Bay. 


HONG  KONG 


XXVI 
FROM  VICTORIA  PEAK,  HONG  KONG 

THERE  is  a  little  memorandum  inside  my  hat 
which  says :  "  Blessed  is  he  who  expects  little 
in  a  city  that  features  its  cemetery  or  public 
garden."  My  suspicions  of  Hong  Kong  were  there- 
fore aroused  the  first  afternoon,  when  the  electric 
cars  whisked  us  across  town  and  landed  us  at  Happy 
Valley,  which  is  Hong  Kong's  European  cemetery.  It 
is  a  beautiful  name  for  a  place  of  peaceful  repose, 
but  it  also  carries  with  it  just  a  faint  suggestion 
that  life  in  Hong  Kong  is  not  so  hilarious  as  to 
prevent  the  living  from  contemplating  the  sequel  with 
fond  anticipations. 

But  Hong  Kong  is  one  of  the  world's  great  meet- 
ing-places and  it  is  a  city  that  is  in  every  way  worthy 
of  the  great  nation  which  sentinels  the  China  Sea  and 
the  Pacific  from  the  vidette-post  of  Victoria  Peak. 
Any  British  subject  who  enters  the  magnificent  har- 
bour should  be  pardoned  if  he  throws  out  his  chest 
when  he  sees  the  public  buildings,  the  hotels,  the 
business  houses,  and  the  European  residences — but 
the  traveller  gives  them  one  astonished  look  and 
hurries  on  to  find  something  Oriental  and  interesting. 
That  is  his  attitude  toward  Happy  Valley ;  as  a  ceme- 

221 


222          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

tery  it  is  faultless  and  beautiful,  but  the  average  trav- 
eller is  not  out  selecting  a  burial-place. 

Enthusiasm  for  Hong  Kong  really  begins  at  the 
foot  of  the  inclined  railway  that  starts  upward  to  the 
Peak,  but  which  stops  in  utter  fatigue  about  halfway. 

As  you  sit  in  the  open-work  car  and  look  straight 
downward,  it  is  no  little  satisfaction  to  remember  what 
a  pretty  place  Happy  Valley  is,  if  the  cable  breaks— 
and  if  they  succeed  in  fishing  your  remains  out  of 
the  sea.  From  the  end  of  the  line  is  one  of  those 
panoramas  which  you  can  see  with  closed  eyes  twenty 
years  later — in  the  foreground  a  great  harbour  dotted 
with  what  seem  to  be  toy  boats,  Kowloon  and  the 
tourmaline  hills  beyond,  and  the  roofs  of  a  half- 
European,  half -Chinese  city  at  your  feet. 

But  the  Peak  needs  an  elevator  badly.  (Yes,  I 
know  that  they  call  it  "  a  lift "  over  there,  but  I  am 
writing  for  over  here.)  The  climb  to  the  summit 
of  the  Peak  is  too  strenuous  except  for  those  who 
have  been  trained  at  Cheops,  and  the  sedan-chair 
men  have  a  foxy  habit  of  setting  you  down  at  the 
steepest  part  and  revising  the  contract.  But  no  mat- 
ter how  much  you  have  to  pay  to  get  to  the  top,  the 
view  is  worth  it.  I  have  been  told  by  a  sea-faring 
man  that  the  harbour  of  Sydney  surpasses  this ;  maybe, 
but  you  must  show  me  Sydney  before  I  change  the 
memorandum  which  says  that  this  is  probably  the 
most  beautiful  harbour  in  the  world. 

But  Hong  Kong  is  a  great  favourite  with  the  rain- 
clouds  and  the  mist.  It  is  a  good  plan  to  postpone 
the  climb  if  you  cannot  see  the  top  of  the  Peak  from 


FROM  VICTORIA  PEAK,  HONG  KONG   223 

the  bottom,  for  that  mist  is  decidedly  persistent  when 
it  takes  a  notion  to  settle  down. 

Hong  Kong  has  been  British  since  1842  and  the 
maritime  business  has  grown  so  rapidly  that  Kowloon, 
across  the  harbour,  has  been  leased  from  China  as  a 
storage  warehouse  for  the  excess  growth.  The  beauty 
of  this  arrangement,  from  the  traveller's  viewpoint, 
is  that  it  leaves  the  Chinese  in  possession  of  all  of 
Hong  Kong  except  the  lower  street  and  the  hill  resi- 
dences. To  trot  leisurely  down  Queen's  Road  and 
some  of  the  other  native  streets  at  night,  when  the 
gay  lanterns  have  turned  the  bazaars  into  a  fairyland 
crowded  with  light-hearted  Celestials — that  is  more 
like  Osaka  or  Coney  Island  than  anything  else  that 
I  have  seen. 

A  distinctive  feature  of  Hong  Kong  is  the  Chinese 
restaurant  district.  It  is  dotted  with  three-  and  four- 
story  buildings  that  are  brilliantly  illuminated.  I 
dare  say  that  a  lot  of  other  transpirings  are  going  on 
contemporaneous  with  the  food,  but  I  cannot  speak 
from  personal  acquaintance  with  the  interior.  If  you 
seek  a  place  for  joyous  mirth  in  Chinese  style,  you 
can  always  engage  a  Chinese  guide  at  the  hotel  to 
be  your  escort  and  interpreter.  A  party  of  six  may 
tickle  their  palates  with  bird's-nest  soup,  fricassee 
of  humming-birds'  tongues,  and  other  delicacies  of 
the  season  for  about  $10  apiece,  including  an  alleged 
musical  entertainment  by  four  or  five  of  the  daintiest 
little  dolls  that  ever  appeared  on  any  stage. 

And  in  Hong  Kong  you  will  have  your  best  chance 
to  attend  a  Chinese  theatre.  You  need  an  interpreter 


TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

here  also,  for  the  plot  is  pretty  muddy.  Moreover, 
the  drama  has  probably  been  in  progress  for  a  couple 
of  days  before  you  arrive,  so  you  need  some  one  to 
give  you  a  synopsis,  like  that  which  heads  the  serial 
stories  in  the  weekly  papers.  It  is  a  fine  place  to 
take  nervous  and  irritable  persons  of  whom  you  are 
not  particularly  fond.  Stick  cotton  in  your  own  ears, 
or  seal  them  up  with  putty,  and  say  nothing  about 
the  kind  of  orchestral  music  that  is  coming.  "  The 
gentler  tones  are  those  of  an  iron  foundry  where  many 
anvils  are  at  work."  The  show  begins  about  1 1  A.  M. 
and  lasts  until 

But  what  do  you  care  about  how  long  it  lasts? 
Fifteen  minutes  of  it  will  satisfy  the  soul-thirst  of 
the  most  ardent  admirer  of  the  drama. 

After  all,  the  best  show  in  Hong  Kong  is  to  be 
seen  from  the  boat.  By  day,  as  the  sampans  circle 
around  the  steamer  like  water-bugs,  you  may  see 
what  the  river  life  of  all  China  is  like.  The  sampan 
is  a  curious  specimen  of  marine  architecture,  but  the 
life  on  board  surpasses  it  in  quaintness.  Mother  runs 
the  boat,  you  will  notice,  while  father  looks  after 
the  incidentals.  And  the  rowing  and  other  hard  work, 
that  also  appertains  unto  mother  and  the  girls ! 

And  that  view  of  Hong  Kong  at  night — surely  you 
have  not  forgotten  it.  With  the  lights  from  the 
residences  that  dot  the  mountain  all  the  way  to  the 
top,  and  with  the  blaze  of  electricity  and  coloured 
lanterns  from  the  lower  town,  Hong  Kong  by  night 
is  a  necklace  of  glittering  gems,  a  pendant  of  dia- 
monds and  rubies  and  emeralds. 


XXVII 
KOWLOON  TO  CANTON  BY  RAIL 

IT  was   in  the  dying  days   of  the  old  Celestial 
Empire  when  the  Cleveland  reached  Hong  Kong 
on  the  Eastward  Cruise  and  transferred  us  to 
river-steamers  for  the  go-mile  trip  up  the  Pearl  River 
to  the  metropolis  of  southern  China.     At  that  time 
the  Republic  had  not  been  established,   but   its    12- 
pointed  sunflower  flag  was  the  only  one  that  dared 
to  tempt  the  breeze.      (The  design  has  since  been 
changed  to  that  of  the  five  bars.) 

That  long  river  trip  has  left  with  me  no  particularly 
pleasing  memories.  Perhaps  the  river  is  too  wide — 
or  maybe  the  service  on  those  boats  gets  on  my  nerves 
after  living  on  the  Cleveland. 

Three  months  later,  when  the  same  Cleveland  (now 
westward  bound)  dropped  anchor  at  Hong  Kong,  it 
met  official  notification  that  Canton  was  in  a  state 
of  wild  disorder  and  that  travellers  could  not  be 
invited  up  the  river.  The  "  pirate  "  soldiers  of  Can- 
ton, indignant  at  some  real  or  fancied  wrongs,  had 
taken  part  of  the  city  and  had  reddened  the  streets 
only  three  days  before.  They  also  held  the  forts 
in  the  middle  of  the  Pearl  River  and  had  threatened 
to  fire  on  any  foreigners  who  ventured  up  it. 

225 


TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

Exchanging  my  luncheon  for  a  quick  landing,  I 
found  that  the  train  from  Kowloon  to  Canton  was 
still  running.  Half  an  hour  later  I  was  on  the  little 
ferry  that  crosses  the  beautiful  harbour  to  Kowloon, 
which  is  at  the  extremity  of  the  peninsula  that  thrusts 
its  nose  far  out  into  the  bay. 

It  is  about  no  miles  by  rail  from  Kowloon  to 
Canton,  and  there  are  two  through  trains  each  way 
every  day.  They  are  real  trains,  too,  and  the  track 
is  a  real  railroad  of  standard  guage.  The  express 
train  makes  the  journey  in  about  four  hours,  but  the 
locals  require  five  or  six.  I  caught  the  express  and 
found  that  it  carried  only  one  other  white  man,  a 
German.  Every  time  the  train  stopped  I  feared  to 
see  him  disembark  and  leave  me  alone  in  the  turmoil 
of  a  Chinese  revolution,  but  he  rode  calmly  on  to 
the  end  of  the  line.  The  other  through  passengers 
were  an  aged  Chinese  who  looked  like  Li  Hung 
Chang,  a  dapper  young  fellow  in  European  clothes, 
and  a  fat  native  who  looked  like  what  may  be  seen 
in  Mott  Street,  New  York.  We  started  with  a  bunch 
of  local  passengers,  but  they  got  off  along  the  Kow- 
loon end  of  the  line. 

But  we  didn't  pick  up  any  new  ones.  Passenger 
traffic  seemed  to  be  all  in  the  opposite  direction  just 
at  that  time,  and  the  atmosphere  was  laden  with 
apprehension. 

It  was  a  picturesque  beginning  of  this  strange  and 
lonely  journey  across  Chinese  territory.  As  the  train 
waited  for  the  signal  in  the  Kowloon  station,  British 
gentlemen  and  ladies  rolled  by  in  carriages  and  'rick- 


KOWLOON  TO  CANTON  BY  RAIL       227 

shaws;  then  came  the  gorgeous  band  of  the  Indian 
regiment  encamped  nearby;  and  prosperous  Chinese 
followed  in  the  never-ending  procession  to  the  ferry 
landing.  Most  conspicuous  of  all  were  the  white-faced 
Chinese  women;  their  hair  was  shiny  with  oil,  parted 
in  the  middle,  and  slicked  straight  back  to  the  dough- 
nut coil  that  was  plastered  on  the  back  of  the  head. 
That  shiny  doughnut  is,  I  believe,  a  label  to  indicate 
that  she  is  somebody's  darling  and  not  to  be  winked 
at  by  almond-eyed  Johnnies.  The  unmarried  girls 
wear  their  black  tresses  in  the  familiar  pig-tail 
fashion;  but  all  the  female  population,  married  or 
hopeful,  wear  trousers  and  alpaca  coats. 

The  clouds  were  hanging  low  over  the  hills  that 
encircle  Hong  Kong  harbour  as  the  train  steamed 
slowly  through  deep  cuts  in  the  peculiar  red  clay 
that  is  one  of  the  characteristic  landmarks;  over  the 
red  had  drifted  finely  powdered  white  sand  and  the 
soft  light  gave  the  surface  a  beautiful  satin  finish. 
At  times  the  pink  and  lilac  tones  made  the  slope  of  a 
cut  look  like  one  vast  mass  of  delicate  tourmaline. 

Then  came  the  blackness  of  a  long  tunnel  and  this 
opened  out  into  a  little  valley  of  vegetable  gardens 
in  which  men  were  ploughing  with  water-buffaloes 
and  women  were  bent  in  toil.  Now  and  then  a  cluster 
of  plaster  houses  flashed  by,  or  a  group  of  rectangu- 
lar huts  covered  with  tile  roofs.  Nearly  every  hut 
had  a  brilliant  sign  on  the  door-post — black  lettering 
on  a  vivid  scarlet  background.  Whether  it  was  the 
owner's  name  or  his  endorsement  of  somebody's  pills 
I  know  not  to  this  day. 


228          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

We  had  left  Kowloon  at  2  140  p.  M.,  and  we  made 
our  first  stop  at  Tai  Po  at  3  :o6.  There  was  no 
village  in  sight,  but  the  scenic  view  was  magnificent. 
An  arm  of  the  sea  runs  inland  here,  and  the  en- 
circling hills  may  almost  be  dignified  with  the  name 
of  mountains.  Their  sides  were  barren  or  sparsely 
covered  with  stunted  vegetation.  But  the  most  con- 
spicuous feature  of  every  landscape  in  this  part  of 
China  flashes  out  every  few  minutes — the  lonely 
grave  on  the  hillside.  It  is  a  whited  sepulchre  of 
large  dimensions  and  is  shaped  like  a  huge  keyhole. 
Occasionally  these  graves  are  seen  in  groups,  but 
more  frequently  they  are  isolated.  It  is  even  now 
the  most  distinct  and  melancholy  feature  of  the  rail- 
way journey  to  Canton — the  whitewashed  scar  on 
the  rugged  hillside  and  the  broken  urn  that  announces 
the  brevity  of  human  life. 

At  3 130  we  were  at  Shum  Chun,  twenty-two  miles 
from  Kowloon,  and  this  is  the  boundary-line  between 
the  British  and  the  Chinese  sections  of  the  railway. 
At  the  stations  thus  far  I  had  seen  a  solitary  Sikh 
policeman  on  each  station  platform;  from  this  point 
on  to  Canton,  every  station  was  guarded  by  a  band 
of  Chinese  soldiers  in  blue  denim. 

Villages  of  all  sorts  and  sizes  now  loomed  up 
every  few  minutes.  Some  were  clusters  of  houses 
so  built  that  their  outside  walls  formed  the  wall  of 
the  village;  others  were  enclosed  in  forbidding  stone 
walls,  with  watch-towers  at  the  corners;  still  others 
had  solitary  skyscrapers  standing  like  silhouettes 
against  the  afternoon  sky,  with  little  slits  to  indicate 


KOWLOON  TO  CANTON  BY  RAIL 

that  they  were  defensive  structures  and  not  grain 
elevators  or  pawnshops — for  in  Canton  a  tall  build- 
ing is  usually  the  place  where  the  Chinese  "  Uncle  " 
sits  at  the  Sign  of  the  Three  Balls. 

From  Shum  Chun  to  Shek  Lung  is  a  run  of  nearly 
two  hours  and  the  express  makes  no  stops.  During 
the  first  hour  we  ran  along  between  desolate  hills 
dotted  with  scraggly  trees  and  scarred  with  the  om- 
nipresent sepulchres.  Now  and  then  the  view  would 
open  out  into  a  small  plain  of  vegetable  gardens,  with 
the  coolies  working  in  grass  raincoats  and  conical 
hats  exactly  as  you  see  in  Japan.  As  the  rain  drizzled 
down,  its  mist  veiled  the  tops  of  the  hills  and  gave 
the  whole  landscape  a  dreary  but  fascinating  appear- 
ance. Then  came  a  larger  valley — almost  a  duplicate 
of  that  seen  between  Kobe  and  Osaka — and  then  an- 
other so  level  and  fertile  that  it  might  have  been 
a  piece  of  central  Kansas. 

Shek  Lung,  the  last  express  stop,  is  quite  a  town, 
or  a  series  of  towns,  and  most  picturesque.  It  is 
in  a  large  plain  and  its  farms  are  watered  from  a 
small  river  and  many  canals.  In  the  vicinity  are 
many  orchards  of  trees  that  look  like  the  apple. 

The  last  half -hour  ran  between  hills  whose  sum- 
mits were  sentinelled  by  gigantic  and  grotesque  rocks, 
without  evidence  of  the  existence  of  the  plastered 
graves  that  had  hitherto  disfigured  the  landscape. 
Then  a  tall  pagoda  shot  across  the  sky  and  I  recog- 
nized one  of  the  landmarks  of  Canton.  It  was  now 
time  to  wonder  if  the  train  would  land  me  right  in  the 
middle  of  a  bad  fix.  All  that  I  knew  was  that  a  part 


230          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

of  Canton  was  in  the  hands  of  bloody  men — but 
which  part?  The  German  was  still  on  board  but, 
so  far  as  I  knew,  he  might  be  shaking  in  his  boots 
as  well  as  I.  The  possibility  of  falling  into  the  hands 
of  yellow  pirates  in  a  city  famous  for  its  torture 
specialists — that  thought  does  not  lull  one  into  deep 
sleep. 

It  had  been  my  plan  to  go  direct  to  the  Victoria 
Hotel,  the  only  institution  of  its  kind  in  this  Chinese 
metropolis,  and  there  inquire  if  it  were  safe  to  ven- 
ture into  the  native  city.  But  when  I  left  the  train 
at  the  station,  I  discovered  that  I  had  to  cross  the 
city  before  I  could  reach  the  hotel!  Not  an  English- 
speaking  "  boy  "  could  be  found  at  the  station — not 
even  those  employed  on  the  train  that  had  brought 
me.  I  tried  the  'rickshaw  men — same  result.  Plenty 
of  'rickshaws  were  offered  me,  but  not  one  of  the 
coolies  recognized  the  name  of  the  hotel.  Finally  I 
remembered  that  it  was  located  in  the  British  con- 
cession, which  is  called  the  "  Shameen."  I  therefore 
uttered  this  magic  word  and  climbed  into  a  'rickshaw. 

That  was  a  weird  experience  in  a  city  which  is 
supposed  to  hate  foreigners  and  whose  streets  had 
so  recently  been  reddened  with  blood.  My  coolie 
drew  me  directly  to  the  water-front  and  along  that 
crowded  thoroughfare  where  the  Eastward  Cleveland 
party  had  been  so  enthusiastically  welcomed.  It  was 
thronged  with  soldiers  and  evil-looking  water-men; 
coolies  were  pushing  heavily  laden  wheelbarrows 
whose  wheels  squeaked  like  hungry  pigs  and  squawked 
like  wild  geese.  As  I  passed  I  saw  that  their  cargo 


KOWLOON  TO  CANTON  BY  RAIL       231 

was  arms  and  ammunition.  Presently  I  met  a  com- 
pany of  soldiers  parading  with  lanterns  and  flags — 
many  of  the  men  without  guns.  Then  I  came  to  the 
uttermost  limit  of  'rickshaw  travel  and  thought  that 
I  was  near  the  hotel. 

But  this  was  a  mistake.  I  started  out  on  foot 
through  the  narrowest,  most  crooked  streets  that  the 
world-cruise  knows,  elbowing  my  way  through  filthy 
and  stolid  specimens  of  the  Mongolian  race,  for  this 
is  "  the  lower  East  Side  "  of  Canton.  Once  I  lost  my 
way,  but  the  magic  word  "  Shameen  "  brought  forth 
gesticulations  that  set  me  right.  For  half  an  hour 
I  threaded  the  thoroughfare  and  came  at  length  face 
to  face  with  a  blank  wall.  I  was  not  by  any  means 
infatuated  with  the  looks  of  the  crowd  at  this  point 
and  had  decided  that  I  was  "  up  against  it "  at  last. 
Just  as  I  was  on  the  point  of  turning  back,  I  saw  a 
Chinese  soldier  with  a  gun.  He  was  somebody's  sen- 
tinel— but  whose?  I  made  for  him  as  boldly  as  if  he 
were  mine. 

Men  say  that  the  Chinese  has  not  the  musical  in- 
stinct, but  when  that  sentry  stopped  me  with  the 
challenge  "  Where  you  goin'  ? "  his  voice  sounded 
more  melodious  to  me  than  Schumann-Heink's.  Again 
I  uttered  the  magic  word  "  Shameen  "  and  a  pas- 
sageway opened  on  the  right.  The  sentinel  had  used 
up  all  his  English  in  the  challenge,  but  his  stock  of 
gesticulations  was  not  scant.  Within  five  minutes  I 
was  at  the  French  Bridge,  which  I  found  barred  and 
guarded  by  Chinese  and  French,  but  which  opened 
freely  to  the  unexpected  foreigner.  I  was  now  in 


232          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

the  Shameen,  with  the  Chinese  city  just  across  the 
narrow  canal  along  which  I  walked.  Presently  the 
dark  silhouette  of  a  tall  Yorkshireman  in  khaki,  stand- 
ing motionless  on  the  lawn  with  rifle  in  hand,  told  me 
that  I  had  reached  the  British  section — and  one  hun- 
dred yards  away  gleamed  the  welcoming  lights  of  the 
Victoria  Hotel.  There  I  discovered  that  it  was  gen- 
uine luck  that  had  enabled  me  to  see  Canton  at  night, 
for  the  Shameen  gates  are  closed  at  nine  o'clock  dur- 
ing the  period  of  disorder  and  no  one  is  allowed  to 
pass  in  either  direction.  I  slept  that  night  in  a  room 
that  was  barricaded  with  sandbags  to  the  height  of 
ten  feet,  but  I  slept. 

Throughout  the  whole  of  the  next  day  I  wandered 
alone  in  Canton,  including  the  walled  city,  and  met 
never  a  hostile  look  or  an  act  of  rudeness — an  ex- 
perience identical  with  that  of  the  previous  trip.  So 
I  still  think  sceptical  thoughts  when  I  hear  of  the 
hair-raising  experiences  of  other  travellers  who  say 
that  Canton  is  a  city  that  hates  foreigners.  Unsafe 
it  was,  because  of  the  danger  from  the  possible  con- 
flict of  two  factions  of  the  fiery  republicans  of  Can- 
ton. But  I  still  pin  my  faith  to  the  Cantonese  and 
believe  that  the  life  of  an  American  is  as  safe  as 
in  any  other  part  of  the  world  where  stray  bullets  are 
winging  their  way  through  the  atmosphere.  Twice 
have  I  been  alone  in  the  streets  of  Canton  at  a  time 
of  riot — and  I  am  a  small  man,  easily  scared. 


CITIZENS  OF  THE  FIRST  ORIENTAL  REPUBLIC 


XXVIII 
IN    THE  NEW  REPUBLIC  OF  CHINA 

"  f^\  HILBLAINS  "  was  the  name  we  gave  him 
\  j  °n  the  sly,  because  he  seemed  to  have  a 
chronic  case  of  "  cold  feet."  You  would  not 
think  it  if  you  could  have  seen  him,  for  he  was  a 
big  husky  man  and  could  have  felled  a  water-buffalo 
with  his  fist;  but  whenever  the  Cleveland  dropped 
anchor  in  an  Oriental  port,  his  blood  began  to  congeal. 
At  Hong  Kong — where  you  are  as  safe  in  a  Chinese 
street  at  midnight  as  if  you  were  locked  up  in  a  steel 
vault — he  had  several  attacks  of  "  chilblains."  One 
was  near  the  majestic  summit  of  Victoria  Peak,  when 
the  two  coolies  who  were  panting  under  his  load  of 
250  pounds  went  on  a  labour  strike  and  deposited  his 
sedan-chair  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  refusing  to 
carry  it  further  for  love,  patriotism,  or  money. 
"  Chilblains  "  promptly  scented  a  murderous  plot  and 
was  so  fearful  that  he  dared  not  give  vent  to  the 
rage  that  burned  within — not  even  when  a  bantering 
idiot  passed  on  foot  and  called  out :  "  Nobody  loves 
a  fat  man — not  even  a  coolie !  " 

And  now,  after  many  hours  of  pondering  and  hes- 
itancy, he  was  on  the  Kinshan,  the  river  boat  that 
runs  up  the  Pearl  River  to  Canton.  He  was  sure 
that  violent  and  lingering  death  lurked  in  the  Chinese 

233 


234          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

city,  and  during  that  ride  of  ninety  miles  he  infected 
a  number  of  other  passengers  with  his  chronic  ailment. 

As  we  crept  along  the  river- front  of  Canton  in 
the  early  afternoon,  "  Chilblains "  was  very  silent. 
Now  and  anon,  as  the  motley  stream  of  coolies  broad- 
ened out  into  pools  and  eddies  of  humanity,  he  shook 
his  head  dubiously.  Then  he  gathered  together  the 
party  of  ten  shore  companions  whom  he  had  selected 
and  cautioned  them  not  to  smile  at  anything  that  they 
should  see  in  Canton,  lest  it  provoke  a  vengeful  out- 
break. And  when  he  saw  one  member  of  his  party 
with  a  kodak,  he  made  a  big  fuss  about  it. 

"  Oh,  you  make  me  tired !  "  said  the  Kodak  Fiend. 
"  I  shall  take  as  many  pictures  as  I  like,  and  I  shall 
smile  at  frequent  intervals,  and  nothing  is  going  to 
happen.  These  Chinese  are  not  barbarians.  Canton 
is  full  of  American  ex-laundrymen  and  they  know 
our  ways.  Besides,  everybody  in  China  knows  that 
the  United  States  is  the  best  friend  their  country  has 
ever  had,  and  they  are  not  carrying  around  bricks 
to  throw  at  us.  Look  at  that  flag!  "  and  he  pointed 
to  one  of  a  hundred  banners  of  the  new  Republic  of 
China — a  red  flag  with  a  white  sunflower  on  a  field 
of  blue.  "  A  city  that  has  the  spirit  to  raise  that 
before  its  republic  is  yet  a  certainty,  is  not  going  to 
slaughter  the  first  visitors  from  another  republic." 

But  "  Chilblains "  was  not  comforted,  not  even 
when  he  saw  the  great  guard  of  honour  of  Chinese 
soldiers  and  sailors  drawn  up  on  the  pier  to  prevent 
crowding.  The  'rickshaw  men  hauled  us  in  state  to 
a  gay  banquet-hall,  and  a  smiling  committee  sat  us 


IN  THE  NEW  REPUBLIC  OF  CHINA    235 

down  to  refreshments.  Then  came  a  young  official 
to  address  us  in  perfect  English  and  to  say  what  a 
comfort  it  was  to  his  people  to  have  a  visit  from 
Americans  at  this  critical  hour  in  their  history. 

"  The  word  '  Pacific  '  has  a  new  significance  to  me 
now,"  he  said.  "  With  the  American  Republic  on 
one  side  of  it  and  a  would-be  Chinese  republic  on  the 
other,  '  Pacific  '  will  really  mean  '  peace  ' !  "  And  he 
hoped  that  out  from  us  would  come  some  Lafayettes 
to  help  in  the  struggle  for  independence. 

Then  the  Americans  went  sight-seeing  in  groups  of 
ten,  but  when  "  Chilblains  "  stopped  to  count  his  party 
there  were  only  nine — the  Rochester  Fiend  having 
bribed  his  coolie  to  get  lost.  And  so  he  made  snap- 
shots all  along  the  narrow  streets  and  smiled  at  every 
crowd  that  jammed  the  passageways — and  the  only 
"  outbreaks "  were  the  grins  of  the  Chinese  who 
smiled  back  and  "  jollied  "  him  on  his  way.  When 
the  last  whistle  of  the  river-boat  had  blown,  the  Fiend 
crept  reluctantly  up  the  gang-plank  and  ran  into 
"  Chilblains  "  on  the  upper  deck. 

"  I  have  been  worried  about  you  all  afternoon," 
said  the  big  man,  reproachfully.  "  We  were  afraid 
something  had  happened  to  you." 

"  It  did,"  said  the  Fiend,  unblushingly.  "  My 
'rickshaw  man  got  lost  in  the  crowd." 

The  Kinshan  began  to  churn  the  muddy  waters  and 
to  slip  slowly  out  to  midstream,  away  from  a  mass 
of  Chinese  humanity  that  packed  every  square  foot 
of  space  along  the  water-front.  And  then  a  surpris- 
ing thing  happened.  As  if  moved  by  a  universal 


236          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

impulse,  that  vast  throng  took  off  its  hat  and  began 
to  cheer  the  Americans.  For  fifteen  minutes  they 
kept  it  up,  standing  with  bared  heads  from  which 
the  queues  had  so  lately  disappeared  and  with  their 
daring  flag  floating  defiantly  toward  Peking.  No 
such  genuine  outburst  of  good  feeling  had  greeted  us 
anywhere  since  we  slipped  out  of  the  Hoboken  docks. 
It  was  one  of  the  unforgettable  scenes  of  the  world- 
cruise,  for  we  were  not  blind  to  the  fact  that  the 
lives  of  these  cheering  Cantonese  were  hanging  by  a 
thread,  which  would  be  snapped  if  the  Manchu 
dynasty  should  regain  its  lost  dominion. 

Late  in  the  night  the  Kinshan  drifted  into  Hong 
Kong  harbour  and  floated  up  to  the  side  of  the  big 
Cleveland.  "  Chilblains  "  was  among  the  first  to  make 
the  transfer  when  the  gang-plank  was  made  fast. 

Halfway  up  the  companion  stairway  he  was  in- 
tercepted by  one  of  the  nighthawks  to  whom  a  world- 
cruise  is  one  long  poker-game. 

"  Well,  what  kind  of  a  time  did  you  have  ?  " 

"Interesting,"  replied  "Chilblains,"  "but  it  was 
mighty  ticklish.  They  had  to  order  out  3,000  troops 
to  keep  back  the  mob.  I  tell  you,  it's  a  great  relief 
to  get  back  without  an  awful  tragedy !  " 

The  Kodak  Fiend  overheard  in  passing,  and  he 
paused  to  make  fitting  and  forcible  comment.  But 
his  remarks  are  not  herein  set  down,  for  several 
reasons. 

Never  was  there  another  city  like  that  Canton. 
If  you  approach  the  city  by  boat,  you  are  in  town 


IN  THE  NEW  REPUBLIC  OF  CHINA    237 

a  long  time  before  you  get  into  town,  for  the  simple 
reason  that  about  400,0x30  of  the  people  live  on  the 
water.  The  police  captain  who  has  charge  of  the 
water  district  must  have  a  busy  time  if  he  works  at 
the  job,  for  it  is  a  wild  and  woolly  population  that 
lives  on  the  sampans.  Besides,  the  river  is  the  place 
where  most  of  the  city's  high  jinks  are  held.  When 
a  bachelor  dinner  is  to  come  off  (and,  in  practice,  all 
Chinese  are  bachelors),  the  host  does  not  take  his 
friends  to  his  club  or  engage  a  table  at  a  swell 
restaurant.  He  charters  one  of  the  "  Flower  Boats  " 
and  figuratively  puts  to  sea. 

The  "  Flower  Boat "  seems  to  be  quite  an  institu- 
tion in  this  Chinese  city.  It  is  a  little  house-boat 
gaily  decorated  with  coloured  lanterns  and  fitted 
with  all  manner  of  luxurious  lounges.  The  food  and 
the  drinks  and  the  smokes  and  the  music  and  the 
dancing  and  all  the  appurtenances  thereunto  belong- 
ing are  all  ordered  in  advance  from  the  menu  card 
and  provided  by  the  skipper  of  the  boat.  When 
everybody  is  aboard,  the  boatmen  push  the  craft  out 
into  the  stream  and  let  it  drift  until  such  time  as 
the  guests  may  need  to  return  to  the  office.  It  is 
quite  unnecessary  for  them  to  go  home,  when  there 
are  such  luxurious  accommodations  closer  at  hand. 
And,  if  anybody  at  home  chooses  to  make  inquiries 
the  next  day,  the  guest  can  of  course  explain  how 
precarious  it  is  for  a  gentleman  to  pass  through  the 
streets  of  Canton  at  night.  I  believe,  however,  that 
it  is  only  the  female  members  of  the  household  who 
are  called  upon  for  explanations  in  the  Orient. 


238          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

If  there  be  anything  in  Canton  more  interesting 
than  the  sampan  life  of  the  river,  it  is  the  life  of 
the  streets.  More  strange  even  than  the  streets  of 
Cairo,  that  life  is  fascinating  in  a  very  different  way. 
The  narrowness  of  the  streets  is  almost  inconceivable. 
There  is  just  room  enough  for  your  sedan-chair  to 
pass  with  the  other  folks  lined  up  against  the  wall, 
with  their  stomachs  drawn  in.  It  is  quite  impossible 
for  two  chairs  to  pass  in  the  street;  one  must  back 
into  a  shop  or  into  a  side  street,  warning  being  given 
in  advance  by  the  constant  yelling  of  the  chair-men. 
And  does  it  not  give  you  a  feeling  of  wondrous  im- 
portance to  be  carried  through  the  street  in  lordly 
state  and  see  at  least  two  hundred  people  in  every 
block  flatten  themselves  against  the  wall  to  let  His 
Excellency  go  by!  When  you  reach  the  corner,  you 
wonder  how  your  men  are  to  get  your  chair  around 
the  bend.  Very  easily;  they  manipulate  it  in  the 
same  way  that  you  handle  the  dining-room  table  when 
trying  to  get  it  through  a  doorway.  I  remember  one 
street  in  the  walled  city  that  is  wide  enough  for  two 
chairs  to  pass.  That,  I  take  it,  is  a  boulevard.  The 
water-front  is  another,  for  there  are  houses  on  only 
one  side.  This  thoroughfare  is  provided  with  'rick- 
shaws, but  if  you  abandon  the  waterside  you  must 
also  leave  your  wheeled  vehicle  behind.  Not  even  a 
wheelbarrow  can  pass  through  the  heart  of  town. 

And  what  a  continuous  picture-show  greets  your 
eyes  as  you  travel  a  Canton  street!  The  shops  all 
open  on  the  street  (there  being  no  sidewalks)  and 
many  of  them  are  filled  with  the  gayest  of  fabrics 


IN  THE  NEW  REPUBLIC  OF  CHINA    239 

and  the  most  precious  of  gem-stones — jade  being  the 
most  prominent.  There  are  entire  streets  given  over 
to  the  jade  workers,  others  to  painters  of  pictures  on 
rice-paper,  others  to  the  woodworkers,  and  so  on 
through  the  arts  and  crafts.  One  of  the  most  curious 
is  that  of  the  kingfisher  jewellers.  Their  craftsman- 
ship recalls  that  of  the  damascene  workers  of  Japan, 
but  it  is  more  ingenious.  The  Cantonese  take  the 
small,  brilliant  feathers  that  blossom  under  the  wings 
of  the  kingfisher-birds  and  glue  them  to  the  metal 
base  of,  a  belt-buckle,  let  us  say,  in  such  a  way  that 
the  design  is  as  perfect  as  if  cut  with  a  die. 

There  is  also  some  very  clever  work  in  ivory  carv- 
ing. A  man  takes  a  large  tusk  and  works  on  it  for 
years.  At  the  end  of  his  task  you  have  a  tusk  full 
of  billiard  balls,  each  smaller  than  the  other,  each 
exquisitely  carved.  Yet  it  is  apparent  that  the  carv- 
ing had  to  be  all  done  through  an  opening  that  will 
but  admit  your  finger,  for  the  balls  are  and  always 
have  been  inside  the  tusk.  The  carving  is  done  by 
revolving  each  ball  and  working  through  the  small 
aperture. 

Then  there  are  the  delicatessen  shops,  with  roast 
pigs  and  ducks  and  dogs  and  rats  all  nicely  varnished 
and  within  easy  reach  of  your  chair.  Moreover,  the 
butcher-shops  also  open  on  the  street  and  are  within 
easy  reach  of  your  sense  of  smell — but  with  great 
force  of  character  I  resist  the  temptation  to  go  into 
elaborate  detail  at  this  point.  The  Cantonese  seem 
also  to  be  great  eaters  of  fish,  but  they  are  particular 
about  the  fish  being  fresh.  In  the  market  therefore 


240          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

(and  the  market  may  be  suspended  from  a  bamboo 
pole  across  a  coolie's  shoulder),  you  see  tubs  of  water 
with  the  live  fish  swimming  in  it.  But  suppose  you 
do  not  wish  to  buy  an  entire  fish?  Oh,  very  well; 
we'll  hack  it  in  two  and  the  remaining  piece  will 
show  by  the  blood  that  it  was  fresh  a  few  minutes 
ago. 

As  might  be  expected  from  a  city  of  filth  and 
wickedness,  Canton  is  full  of  temples  of  all  sorts,  but 
they  are  different  from  the  others  in  your  round-the- 
world  collection.  They  cannot  be  called  beautiful, 
but  there  is  much  wood-carving  that  would  bring  fabu- 
lous prices  and  no  little  frescoing.  Besides,  the  gods 
on  exhibit  are  no  dull  show.  They  are  all  of  the 
kind  that  frighten  bad  boys  at  night. 

For  instance,  there  is  the  Temple  of  the  Five  Genii, 
who  brought  good  luck  to  Canton  in  the  long  ago. 
They  rode  into  the  city  on  rams  which  aeroplaned 
through  the  air.  If  you  are  sceptical  about  the  story, 
you  may  see  the  rams  themselves,  for  the  genii  caused 
them  to  be  turned  into  stone.  And  if  five  be  incon- 
sequential, you  may  pass  on  to  the  Temple  of  the 
Five  Hundred  Genii,  where  the  whole  battalion  of 
plaster  and  stone  gods  is  lined  up.  And  look  who's 
here!  Your  old  fellow-traveller,  Marco  Polo!  He 
sits  among  the  gods  as  complacently  as  if  he  had 
gone  to  school  with  them  when  a  boy. 

Then  there  is  the  Temple  of  Horrors,  once  adorned 
with  sculptured  representations  of  all  the  forms  of 
torture  that  the  ingenious  Cantonese  mind  could  think 
of  in  connection  with  the  hereafter.  But  at  the  time 


IN  THE  NEW  REPUBLIC  OF  CHINA 

of  my  visit  there  was  a  great  emptiness,  for  some- 
body's soldiers  had  smashed  the  whole  collection  into 
flinders.  The  devotional  artists  were  busy  modelling 
new  ones,  however.  One  thing  about  the  Temple  of 
Horrors  struck  me  as  in  keeping  with  the  eternal 
fitness  of  things.  In  the  vestibule  was  a  group  of 
stalls  and  in  one  of  the  stalls  I  saw  a  dentist — a 
real  dentist,  one  of  the  kind  that  pulls  out  the  teeth 
while  you  wait.  Wonder  why  the  soldiers  did  not 
smash  him  also? 

There  is  also  the  Chiu  Shing  Temple,  dedicated  to 
one  of  the  gods  of  healing,  and  this  is  the  place 
whither  come  those  who  are  themselves  afflicted,  or 
whose  hearts  are  heavy  because  of  illness  at  home. 
It  is  a- pathetic  place,  and  the  pathos  of  the  worship- 
pers whom  I  saw  restrains  me  from  making  merry 
over  some  of  the  grotesque  features  connected  with  it. 

As  for  the  Flowery  Pagoda  and  the  Five  Storey 
Pagoda,  they  are  to  me  merely  picturesque  adornment 
of  the  landscape.  I  saw  nothing  noteworthy  when 
I  came  close  to  them.  A  far  more  interesting  thing 
to  do  is  in  the  walled  city..  Go  up  to  the  North  Gate 
and  climb  to  the  top  of  the  old  wall,  from  which  you 
may  overlook  the  wonderful  city.  This  is  the  place 
also  from  which  to  view  the  larger  and  silent  city  of 
the  dead — the  inconspicuous  resting-place  of  the  com- 
mon dead. 

And  beyond  the  wall  is  the  one  beautiful  place 
that  I  found  in  Canton — a  place  of  flowers  and  ever- 
greens. I  believe  they  call  it  "The  White  Cloud 
City,"  and  it  is  the  clearing-house  for  the  wealthy 


TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

deceased.  Here,  in  lacquered  coffins  of  great  value, 
are  men  and  women  whose  burial-places  have  not  yet 
been  determined  by  the  professional  astrologers. 
Some  of  them  have  been  here  for  years,  paying  high 
rent  all  the  time.  Curious  it  is  to  find  this  burial-place, 
clean  and  neat  and  fragrant,  in  a  city  where  the  living 
reside  in  the  midst  of  conditions  that  make  a  livery 
stable  seem  like  a  summer  garden. 

But  why  try  to  describe  Canton  ?  Every  paragraph 
here  might  easily  be  expanded  into  a  chapter. 

But  do  not  forget  one  important  fact — that  Canton, 
with  all  its  disgusting  features,  is  one  of  the  most 
important  cities  of  China  and  is  a  city  to  be  reckoned 
with.  It  has  always  played  an  important  part  in  the 
history  of  China  and  is  withal  a  city  of  learning.  It 
is  curious,  too,  that  it  is  a  city  of  fighting  men  and 
of  revolutionists.  The  career  of  Dr.  Sun  Yat  Sen 
(the  truest  patriot  in  China  and  the  man  who  made 
the  empire  a  republic)  is  closely  identified  with  Canton 
and  the  neighbouring  Portuguese  city  of  Macao. 

Oh,  yes,  I  forgot  to  speak  about  my  guide  in  Can- 
ton. All  the  other  great  travellers  whose  literature 
I  have  been  reading  lately  were  led  about  the  city 
by  a  gentleman  bearing  the  name  of  Ah  Cum.  I 
missed  him  somehow.  But  the  other  dignitaries  have 
nothing  on  me.  My  guide  was  none  other  than  Chee 
Leong.  And  you  do  not  know  Chee  Leong?  Then 
listen:  he  it  is  who  bears  testimonials  from  the  Hon. 
Myles  Ponsonby.  And  who  is  the  Hon.  Myles? 
Why,  he  is  "  M.R.C.,  V.O.,  A.D.C.  in  waiting  to 
H.R.H.  the  Duke  of  Connaught." 


AGASAKI 


XXIX 
NAGASAKI,  LAND   OF  BABIES 

NAGASAKI  is  one  of  many  places  where  you 
appreciate  the  advantage  of  globe-trotting  in 
a  bunch  and  not  in  couples  and  singles.  In- 
stead of  landing  unnoticed  by  anybody  except  the 
customs  officers  and  the  police,  the  reporters  are  out 
in  force,  the  merchants  swarm  over  the  ship,  and 
the  Mayor's  secretary  comes  down  to  beg  as  a  special 
favour  to  him  that  you  will  accept  the  city's  keys. 
Everybody  in  town  knows  about  you  and  has  on  a 
clean  dress.  The  Mayor  takes  you  up  to  a  tea-house, 
feeds  you,  and  gives  you  a  geisha  dance,  or  has  a 
kite-flying  out  in  the  meadow.  And  this  is  the  way 
it  goes  all  over  Japan.  But  when  you  are  travelling 
alone,  the  town  does  not  stand  on  its  head  and  wiggle 
its  feet  in  the  air. 

From  the  moment  the  first  Japanese  climbs  over 
the  side  of  the  ship,  prepare  yourself  to  be  deluged 
with  printed  matter.  This  is  a  sample : 

In  1887,  General  Grant  visited  our  factory  while  stopping  at 
Nagasaki,  on  the  occasion  of  his  memorable  trip  around  the 
world,  and  took  many  pieces  of  our  ware  as  souvenirs  of  the  visit. 

In  1900,  Russian  Emperor  gave  us  honorable  order  to  purchase 
our  fine  art  articles. 

343 


244          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

In  1903,  Siam  Prince,  on  the  way  of  returning  from  tour  of 
inspecting  Nikko,  Japan,  stopped  Nagasaki  and  favoured  us  to 
purchase  every  kinds  of  our  articles. 

In  1904,  Miss  Alice  Roosevelt,  the  daughter  of  President  Roose- 
velt, favored  our  factory  with  a  visit  and  complemented  us  upon 
the  great  excellence  of  our  goods. 

In  1906  PRINCE  IMPERIAL  ARTHUR  FREDERICK  PATRIC  ALBERT 
OF  CONNAUT  on  the  occasion  of  his  coming  to  Japan,  arrived 
Nagasaki  gave  favorable  purchase  of  our  each  articles. 

I  have  three  catalogues  of  "  sights  "  in  Nagasaki 
and  one  distinct  impression  that  four  out  of  five  of 
them  are  not  worth  walking  ten  steps  to  see.  Nearly 
everything  is  much  better  somewhere  else.  The  things 
that  are  most  worth  while  in  Nagasaki  are  not  on 
the  lists  at  all,  so  here  goes  to  make  a  new  one : 

(1)  The   Coaling   of   the   Ship.      Nothing  like   it 
anywhere  else  in  my  world.     As  soon  as  the  ship 
is  made  fast,  it  is  surrounded  with  coal  barges  full 
of  coal,  men,  women,  and  babies — all  chattering  like 
a  convention  of  blackbirds.     Rope-ladders  are  strung 
all  over  both  sides  of  the  ship  and  up  swarm  the 
coal-passers,  mostly  women  and  girls.     There  is  at 
least  one  on  every  round  of  the  ladder,  and  there  she 
stands  the  livelong  day,  passing  over  her  head  the 
little  baskets  of  coal  that  travel  from  hand  to  hand 
up  the  human  belt-conveyer.     As  much  as  5,000  tons 
travel  this  line  in  a  single  day  sometimes. 

(2)  Small   Fry.     Away  back   on  the  horizon  of 
memory   is   a   half -dimmed  picture   of   a   street-car- 
nival  in   a   Kentucky   city.      One   of   its   spectacular 
features  was  a  baby  show,  with  big  prizes   for  the 
handsomest.     Competition  was  open  only  to  those  of 


NAGASAKI,  LAND  OF  BABIES          245 

unmistakably  African  descent.  There  I  saw  more 
babies  to  the  square  yard  than  in  Japan — but  only 
there.  The  little  empire  is  simply  alive  with  them. 
A  girl  six  years  old  or  under  who  does  not  have  a 
baby  strapped  to  her  back  is  not  fully  dressed  for 
the  street;  and  if  the  elder  sister  does  not  happen 
to  be  a  girl,  then  the  boy  must  be  the  perambulator. 

(3)  Deichman.  And  what  is  Deichman?  Oh, 
technically  speaking,  he  is  the  American  Consul,  but 
that  is  merely  the  way  he  makes  a  living.  In  reality 
he  is  one  of  the  jolliest  good  fellows  that  may  be 
found  in  the  whole  world-circuit.  Nagasaki  is  the 
only  place  where  American  travellers  may  expect  to 
find  that  the  representative  of  their  country  is  even 
mildly  interested  in  their  arrival.  True,  the  Consul 
at  Hong  Kong  came  aboard  on  the  Westward  Cruise 
— but  only  to  order  everybody  to  be  vaccinated. 

But  don't  you  remember  that  long  table  in  Consul 
Deichman's  home,  loaded  with  every  kind  of  cake 
that  mother  used  to  make?  And  the  big  tubs  of — 
lemonade?  And  the  little  side-room  where  the  men 
could  step  up  and  order  malted  milk  or  Vichy  as 
many  times  as  they  liked?  And  a  big,  hearty,  fun- 
loving  host  who  made  everybody  feel  that  he  was 
having  the  time  of  his  life? 

Memory  is  short  and  treacherous,  old  man,  but 
here  is  a  hand  still  waving  to  you  there  across  the 
sea!  It  was  not  the  cake  nor  the  lemonade  nor  the 
little  dinner-parties  where  we  were  so  glad  to  be 
aboard;  it  was  the  fine  spirit  that  prompted  it  all, 
and  the  splendid  way  in  which  it  was  done.  You're 


246          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

the  best  thing  in  Nagasaki,  even  if  you  are  not  down 
in  the  guide-book. 

(4)  Tea-House.  The  next  best  fun  in  Nagasaki 
— is  it  not  so,  Uncle  Dan? — is  to  whirl  away  after 
nightfall  with  a  small  party  of  dignified  passengers 
and  sit  down  on  the  floor  before  a  Japanese  dinner. 
And  after  you  have  disentangled  yourself  from  the 
chop-sticks,  a  geisha  dance.  Now,  for  the  first  time, 
you  see  the  Japanese  girl  of  your  dreams — the  girl 
who  is  on  all  the  post-cards.  Six  of  them,  merry 
little  dolls,  cut  up  shines  all  by  themselves  for  a 
while,  and  then  invite  you  to  get  into  the  game.  I 
have  a  vision  of  Uncle  Dan  (who  in  the  home  town 
is  pointed  out  to  wayward  boys  as  a  model  of  pro- 
priety and  gravity)  arrayed  in  a  crimson  robe  and 
chasing  scandalously  around  the  room  in  a  game  of 
blind-man's  buff.  And  of  Aunt  Susan  (who  is  head 
of  the  Ladies'  Auxiliary  and  all  that  sort  of  thing), 
dressed  up  as  a  geisha  and  trying  to  act  like  one. 
And  the  little  dollies  probably  went  to  bed  sick  from  too 
much  laughter. 

Nagasaki  is  the  port  where  you  say  either  "  Hello !  " 
or  "  Sayonara!  "  to  Japan.  It  therefore  deserves  to 
live  in  memory,  for  Japan  is  the  pleasantest  land  of 
all  the  earth  for  the  globe-trotter.  But  whether  it  be 
here  or  at  Yokohama  that  you  say  farewell,  you  will 
feel  the  force  of  the  exquisite  sentiment  wrapped  up 
in  the  word  " sayonara  " — "  Since  it  must  be  so!  " 


INLAND  SEA 


XXX 
CRUISING  ON  THE  INLAND  SEA 


A^TER  full  reflection  upon  two  cruises  through 
this  famous  body  of  water,  the  doctor  finds 
that  my  pulse  is  normal  and  that  the  stage  of 
excitation  has  not  yet  set  in.  Not  that  I  have  any- 
thing against  the  Inland  Sea.  It  looks  like  a  good 
place  to  bathe,  and  there  are  probably  fish  in  it.  But 
if  I  had  as  much  water  in  my  front  yard  as  Japan 
has,  I  should  not  make  so  much  fuss  about  this  moist 
insert. 

In  the  first  place,  the  Inland  Sea  is  mostly  sea  —  • 
just  the  same  sort  of  sea  that  you  see  elsewhere, 
See?  It  is  from  eight  to  forty  miles  wide,  so  it  is 
quite  impossible  for  you  to  see  anything  except  water 
unless  you  are  passing  through  a  narrow  channel. 
The  entrance  through  the  tortuous  channel  of  Shim- 
onoseki  is  worth  getting  up  early  to  see  —  but  how  are 
you  to  know  that  you  will  pass  through  it  before 
breakfast?  And  there  are  times  when  you  pass  close 
to  islands  that  are  of  great  scenic  beauty,  especially 
about  midway,  but  I  have  seen  islands  that  were 
equally  picturesque  elsewhere  and  no  fuss  made  about 
them. 

But  I  have  a  suspicion  that  the  enthusiasm  of  the 
247 


248          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

Japanese  is  in  a  measure  justified.  Most  of  them 
view  their  pet  sea  from  the  land  side  or  from  small 
steamers  that  run  close  in  shore.  If  you  reverse  the 
traveller's  view  and  look  out  upon  the  sea  from  the 
shelter  of  an  overhanging  pine  of  the  quaint  scraggly 
variety,  I  have  an  idea  that  it  is  indescribably  pic- 
turesque. And  in  the  summer  season,  it  is  probably 
great  sport  to  spend  the  two-weeks'  vacation  at  one 
of  the  bathing  resorts  along  its  shores.  But  merely 
to  ride  through  it  in  the  winter  season — that  is  not 
my  idea  of  a  high  old  time.  If  I  had  it  to  do  over 
again,  I  should  spend  n  yen  and  n  sen  (about  $6) 
for  a  railway  ticket  to  Yokohama  (second  class)  and 
see  what  I  could  of  the  quaint  villages  of  Japan. 

Bear  this  in  mind.  The  sooner  you  let  the  love 
of  the  little  Japanese  pine  into  your  soul,  the  more 
joy  you  will  get  out  of  your  visit  to  Nippon.  I  have 
a  mathematical  eye  that  can  appreciate  a  tree  that 
rises  straight  as  an  arrow  to  a  lofty  height,  but  I 
confess  an  abiding  affection  for  the  little  crooked 
dwarf  pine  that  the  Japanese  so  dearly  love.  You 
will  see  them  everywhere  on  the  landscape  and  even 
in  flower-pots,  and  when  you  get  back  to  the  place 
where  all  the  dogs  know  you,  one  of  your  regrets 
will  be  that  you  came  away  without  one.  The  love 
of  these  little  scraggly  trees  is  so  inbred  that  I  should 
not  be  surprised  if  the  Japanese  have  cut  down  all  the 
straight  ones,  except  the  great  cryptomerias. 


XXXI 
KOBE,  A  JAPANESE  HOBOKEN 

YES,  I  know  that  Kobe  is  the  second  port  of 
Japan  and  that  it  is  a  great  city  of  nearly  half 
a  million  people.  Hoboken  is  also  a  great  place 
for  shipping  and  has  quite  a  population  itself.  But 
how  many  travellers  would  go  to  Hoboken  merely  to 
see  its  "  places  of  interest  "  ? 

To  show  you  that  I  have  no  personal  prejudice 
against  the  second  port,  let  me  say  that  I  have  read 
over  the  list  of  seven  places  that  the  Oriental  Hotel 
of  Kobe  has  set  down  as  "  Places  to  Visit."  One 
is  a  temple  with  a  47- foot  bronze  Buddha;  another 
is  a  temple  dedicated  to  a  man  who  committed  suicide ; 
a  third  temple  is  distinguished  by  the  fact  that  the 
Empress  Jingokogo  cut  a  fishing-pole  on  this  site,  but 
history  neglects  to  say  whether  she  caught  any  fish 
with  it.  No.  4  is  a  park  "  commanding  a  very  fine 
view."  No.  5  is  a  porcelain  factory  where  you  can 
spend  your  money.  No.  6  is  a  waterfall  that  one 
of  the  Japanese  newspapers  made  fun  of  while  we 
were  there;  it  seemed  to  be  a  joke  that  we  should  have 
been  told  about  it.  No.  7  is  the  Main  Street. 

By  reason  of  the  fact  that  I  used  Kobe  as  a  con- 
venient base  of  supplies  for  side-trips  to  Osaka,  I  had 

249 


250          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

only  one  full  day  there  on  the  return  cruise.  Do 
you  want  to  know  how  I  enjoyed  myself?  Here  is 
the  record  in  my  journal: 

A.M. — Remained  on  board. 
P.M. — Loafing  in  Main  Street. 

But  Main  Street  is  not  a  bad  place  to  loaf.  It  is 
full  of  odd  little  shops  with  all  sorts  of  queer  sign- 
boards over  them,  and  it  is  one  of  the  best  places  in 
Japan  to  buy  coloured  photographs  and  postcards. 
On  the  Eastward  Cruise,  Kobe  was  our  second  Japa- 
nese city,  of  course,  and  therefore  of  considerable 
interest.  The  novelty  of  Japanese  life  was  of  itself 
sufficient  to  make  up  for  the  lack  of  worth-while  places 
to  visit.  But  after  you  have  seen  the  temples  of 
Nikko  and  Kyoto,  you  are  not  likely  to  get  excited 
over  Kobe  and  Nagasaki. 

But  there  is  one  dream  of  a  place  in  Kobe — the 
Tor  Hotel,  up  on  the  hill.  I  have  seen  it  only  from 
the  outside,  but  the  grounds  are  laid  out  in  such  a 
charming  way  that  I  wanted  to  stop  and  live  there. 
It  also  commands  a  beautiful  view  of  the  harbour, 
a  harbour  which  is  always  crowded  with  shipping 
and  wherein  the  building  of  battleships  seems  to  be 
going  on  apace. 

But  why  use  up  good  grey  matter  and  good  white 
paper  and  good  black  ink  on  a  town  that  is  merely 
a  point  of  departure  for  Kyoto,  Nara,  and  Osaka? 


XXXII 
KYOTO,  THE  SOUL  OF  JAPAN 

I    SAW  it  first  by  lamplight  in  the  chill  of  a  Jan- 
uary rain.     I  have  seen  it  also  draped  in  snow 
and  bathed   in  bright  sunshine.      Each  time   it 
was  as  it  is  to-day,  the  incomparable  city  of  Japan — 
the  incarnation  of  all  that  is  finest  and  truest  in  the 
Japanese  character.     And  when  the  hour  of  parting 
has  come,  invariably  has  crept  over  me  the  wish  to 
stay  and  dream  away  the  monotony  of  existence. 

For  Kyoto  is  the  soul  of  Japan — that  Japan  of  the 
olden  time,  before  ever  the  foreign  ideas  came  over 
and  before  the  exquisite  work  of  the  craftsmen  was 
hawked  about  in  crude  imitation.  Then  it  was  that 
every  piece  of  bronze  or  cloisonne  was  a  work  of 
art,  the  genius  of  a  poetic  soul  finding  expression  in 
that  form  instead  of  on  a  canvas  or  in  a  rhythm  of 
verse.  Kyoto  stood  for  what  Boston  was  in  the  days 
of  Emerson  but  will  never  again  be;  and  for  what 
Virginia  stood  in  the  young  chivalric  days  of  Robert 
E.  Lee.  And  if  you  will  turn  aside  from  the  tourist 
highway  in  the  Kyoto  of  to-day,  you  may  hear  again 
the  heart-beat  of  the  old  regime. 

For  instance,  there  is  an  inconspicuous  holy  place 
that  bears  the  name  of  Nisa  Teramachi.  Within  is 

251 


252          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

an  aged  monk  whose  affection  centres  mainly  in  things 
that  are  of  the  earth,  earthy — the  dry  and  decaying 
stumps  of  plum-trees  that  are  said  to  be  two  or  three 
centuries  old.  Out  from  each  gnarled  stump  is  a 
single  branch  through  which  courses  the  life-giving 
sap.  Each  of  these  twigs  was  covered  with  buds 
when  I  worshipped  at  the  shrine,  and  the  old  man 
was  nursing  them  as  tenderly  as  if  they  were  incubator 
babies.  And  his  patient,  affectionate  effort  to  keep 
alive  that  which  is  ancient  is  typical  of  the  spirit 
of  Kyoto. 

Then  there  is  the  Commercial  Museum,  the  finest 
that  I  saw  anywhere  in  Japan.  It  was  one  of  the  last 
places  on  your  programme,  you  remember;  it  would 
illy  serve  the  interests  of  the  bazaar-keepers  at  the 
hotels  if  you  should  go  there  first.  At  the  Museum 
you  are  met  in  the  doorway  by  gracious  young  women 
who  speak  English  and  who  have  the  most  exquisite 
manners.  They  escort  you  upstairs  and  place  tea 
and  cakes  before  you.  Then,  at  your  pleasure,  you 
are  taken  on  a  tour  of  glass  cases  wherein  are  ex- 
hibited specimens  of  every  kind  of  workmanship  that 
Kyoto  produces.  Each  article  bears  the  name  of  its 
maker  and  the  correct  price.  If  you  fancy  anything 
that  you  see,  the  'rickshaw  will  take  you  to  the  shop 
and  you  know  exactly  what  you  should  pay. 

One  instance  will  show  you  how  the  system  works. 
A  traveller  became  enamoured  of  a  cigarette-case 
which  he  saw  in  one  of  the  shops  and  bought  it  for 
30  yen.  He  left  it  for  the  time  in  order  that  his 
initials  might  be  frescoed  on  it.  During  the  day  he 


KYOTO,  THE  SOUL  OF  JAPAN          253 

wandered  into  the  Museum,  saw  the  same  case  in 
the  same  man's  exhibit,  with  the  price  of  15  yen 
marked  thereon.  Did  he  make  a  fuss  about  it?  He 
surely  did,  and  saved  $7.50  by  the  transaction.  And 
that  is  exactly  what  Mr.  Niwa,  the  Director,  has  set 
himself  to  do.  The  idea  of  the  Museum  is  not  only 
to  exhibit  the  craftsmanship  of  Kyoto  but  to  save 
travellers  from  imposition. 

When  you  remember  also  that  Kyoto  was  the  cap- 
ital of  the  Empire  up  to  1869;  that  it  has  been  the 
home  of  poets  and  artists;  that  its  Geisha  School  still 
trains  the  most  artistic  of  these  professionals;  and 
that  it  is  a  university  city,  you  will  begin  to  have 
some  idea  of  its  importance.  And  I  have  a  sort  of 
an  idea  that  there  is  no  ecclesiastic  in  all  Japan  who 
can  lord  it  over  the  Chief  Priest  of  the  Higashi  Hong- 
wan  ji  of  Kyoto. 

Do  you  remember  the  paintings  and  decorations  in 
the  Imperial  Palace — those  masterpieces  of  old  Japan? 
You  didn't  think  much  of  the  two  little  sparrows 
sitting  on  a  solitary  twig,  sleeping  against  a  back- 
ground of  snow.  The  picture  did  not  "  tell  a  story  " 
— that  is,  it  told  none  to  you.  But  it  is  like  a  Sistine 
Madonna  to  a  Japanese  of  the  Samurai  days.  And 
you  may  recall  the  beautiful  satin  finish  of  the  wood- 
work in  the  temples,  unvarnished  and  unstained.  So 
it  is  that  the  Japanese  love  it;  the  worshippers  of  the 
same  Buddha  at  Rangoon  would  have  it  all  covered 
over  with  gilt  paper  or  red  paint. 

There  are  nearly  900  temples  in  this  ancient  and 
fine-souled  city,  and  most  of  them  are  Buddhist.  The 


254          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

Chion-in  (the  temple  on  the  hillside  with  the  large 
bell,  weighing  100,000  pounds)  is  one  of  the  largest 
in  Japan;  and  when  you  have  seen  it  and  the  Higashi 
Hongwanji,  you  need  not  waste  time  on  any  other 
temples  except  at  Nikko. 

At  the  famous  Higashi  Hongwanji  (which  is  near 
the  station)  is  a  coil  of  rope  cable.  The  cable  is 
ninety  feet  long  and  its  circumference  is  nine  inches — 
and  it  is  made  of  hair.  There  are  twenty-nine  of 
these  coils  preserved  in  the  temple,  and  they  represent 
the  sacrifice  of  Japanese  womanhood.  The  temple 
was  built  by  free-will  offerings,  and  the  women  who 
could  do  nothing  more  gave  this — and  you  who  have 
seen  the  care  that  Japanese  women  take  with  their 
hair  can  appreciate  that  the  sacrifice  was  very  real. 
And  I  have  no  doubt  that  the  offering  was  as  pleasing 
to  Him  who  sitteth  upon  the  throne  as  any  whole 
burnt-offering  that  ever  ascended  from  a  Hebrew 
altar.  If  that  be  heresy,  make  the  most  of  it. 

Supreme  in  nearly  every  other  excellent  thing  Jap- 
anese, Kyoto  has  also  the  most  magnificent  hotel  that 
I  saw  in  Japan.  It  was  a  fairyland  from  the  outside, 
with  its  hundreds  of  lanterns  and  its  wonderful  land- 
scape gardening.  And  where  in  all  the  world  have 
you  ever  been  served  by  such  exquisite  little  maidens 
as  those  who  flitted  like  butterflies  through  the  great 
dining-room  of  the  Hotel  Miyako  ?  Surely  they  must 
have  been  trained  in  the  Geisha  School  in  the  lost  art 
of  being  simple  and  gracious  though  beautiful.  They, 
too,  go  to  make  Kyoto  what  it  seems  to  me — the 
imperial  city  of  Japan, 


XXXIII 
NARA,  THE  DEER-EST  OF  ALL 

A)  you  stood  in  front  of  the  beautiful  hotel  in 
Nara,  Eunice,  looking  out  over  that  picturesque 
landscape,  did  you  realize  that  it  was  a  place  of 
astonishing  antiquity?  Twelve  hundred  years  ago — 
think  what  the  world  was  then ! — Nara  was  the  capital 
of  Japan.  And  as  you  went  up  the  long,  shaded  Ka- 
suga  Avenue  that  is  flanked  by  the  three  thousand  stone 
lanterns  and  saw  that  group  of  strangely  dressed  pil- 
grims ahead  of  you,  did  you  stop  to  think  that  "  men 
clad  as  these  were  climbing  up  to  Kasuga  when 
Chaucer's  pilgrims  were  making  their  way  to  the 
shrine  at  Canterbury  "  ? 

But  perhaps  you  were  too  busy  feeding  the  deer 
to  do  much  thinking  about  pilgrimages  and  dynasties. 
The  great  park  is  fairly  alive  with  these  gentle 
creatures  and  they  are  very  fond  of  rice-cakes.  There- 
fore, the  sellers  of  postcards  deal  in  the  national  bis- 
cuit of  Japan,  in  order  that  the  eager  traveller  may 
go  home  and  tell  of  a  time  when  deer  came  out  of 
the  woods  and  ate  from  his  hand.  And  the  flocking 
of  these  graceful  animals  everywhere  along  the  road- 
side led  the  late  Dr.  Hough  to  gracefully  refer  to 

255 


256          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

Nara,  in  his  response  to  the  Mayor's  speech,  as  "  the 
deer-est  of  all." 

The  Kasuga  and  other  temples  in  the  vicinity  were 
interesting  while  we  were  looking  at  them;  but  not 
distinctive  enough  to  stand  out  in  memory's  perspec- 
tive like  the  big  Daibutsu  in  that  barn-like  structure 
that  should  never  have  been  built  around  it.  Four 
times,  I  believe,  it  has  burned  to  the  ground,  but 
Buddha  sat  through  each  of  the  conflagrations  with 
stolid  indifference.  It  is  the  largest  idol  in  Japan, 
but  not  so  pleasing  to  me  as  that  of  Kamakura.  Here 
are  the  dimensions:  Height,  53^  feet;  length  of  face, 
1 6  feet;  breadth  of  face,  gl/2  feet;  diameter  of  nose 
hole,  3  feet;  circumference  of  lotus,  69  feet. 

And  did  you  see  the  pigeons  feeding  in  the  temple 
yard  ?  Or  were  you  too  busy  tying  your  paper  prayer 
to  "  The  Tree  of  the  Lovers  "  ?  But  they  say  that  there 
are  six  trunks  interlocked  in  that  inseparable  embrace, 
Eunice.  Is  there  not  something  a  little  creepy  about 
your  petition  being  offered  on  that  altar?  Suppose 
the  prayer  should  come  true !  Think  of  the  succession 
of  widowhoods  that  await  you  down  the  lane!  But 
let  us  hope  that  you  did  not  comprehend  the  multi- 
plicity of  trunks  when  you  were  worshipping  at  this 
Juliette  pagoda. 


XXXIV 
A  JAPANESE  CONEY  ISLAND 

YOU  have  circumnavigated  the  globe;  you  have 
been  to  Japan;  perhaps  you  have  even  crossed 
Japan;    another    perhaps,    you    have    been    in 
Osaka.     But  unless  you  have  ridden  down  the  main 
street  of  Osaka  by  night,  I  suggest  that  you  go  back. 

Just  on  general  principles,  a  Japanese  city  with  a 
million  people  in  it  is  worth  seeing.  And  when  it  is 
the  chief  manufacturing  and  commercial  city  of  the 
empire,  it  is  again  worth  seeing.  But  it  was  not  the 
sight  of  Osaka's  fine  factories  and  beautiful  buildings 
and  picturesque  canals  that  interested  me  most.  It 
was  that  night  ride. 

I  do  not  know  how  long  it  takes  to  travel  that 
Shinsaibashi  road  into  fairyland,  but  the  joy-ride 
must  be  at  least  an  hour  in  length.  And  when  you 
come  to  the  end  of  the  narrow  lane,  you  realize  that 
you  are  just  getting  into  the  thick  of  things — Doton- 
bori  and  the  theatres  and  the  picture  shows  and  the 
fun-loving  crowd.  No  'rickshaws  are  allowed  in  the 
street  of  mirth,  for  the  crowd  is  too  dense.  Your 
'rickshaw  man  leaves  his  carriage  at  the  head  of  the 
street  and  guides  you  through  the  bewildering  mass 
of  lights  and  pictures  until  your  soul  is  satisfied. 

257 


258          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

This  fine  Japanese  city  is  associated  with  one  of 
the  best  jokes  of  the  Westward  Cruise.  Among  the 
passengers  was  the  Girl  Who  Doesn't  Give  a  Hang, 
and  she  was  one  of  the  best-informed  people  on  the 
boat — but  she  didn't  keep  the  goods  on  display  in 
the  show-window.  Just  before  reaching  Yokohama, 
she  wanted  to  know  the  difference  between  Buddhism 
and  Shintoism  in  Japan.  I  (who  knew  very  little 
about  it)  carefully  explained.  On  docking  at  Yoko- 
hama, the  boat  was  instantly  covered  with  newspaper 
men.  Most  of  them  are  exceptionally  fine  fellows, 
but  some  of  them  are  merely  persistent  in  their  search 
for  a  story — any  kind  of  a  story.  One  of  them  made 
life  wretched  for  me  in  his  efforts  to  get  an  interview 
from  Col.  Henry  W.  Savage,  who  was  known  to  be 
aboard.  In  the  midst  of  my  effort  to  oblige  him,  I 
ran  afoul  of  the  Girl  Who  Doesn't  Give  a  Hang. 

"  Here  is  a  story  for  you,"  I  said,  confidentially. 
11  This  young  lady  is  prominently  associated  with  busi- 
ness people  in  New  York  and  she  has  shown  great 
interest  in  Japanese  religions,  particularly  Shintoism. 
Suppose  you  interview  her." 

He  was  more  than  willing.  I  made  the  introduc- 
tion and  then  disappeared  from  mortal  view,  forget- 
ting both  him  and  the  interview. 

A  week  later  we  were  all  sitting  down  to  dinner  on 
the  Cleveland  in  the  harbour  of  Kobe.  The  Girl  Who 
Doesn't  Give  a  Hang  was  seated  next  to  me.  Enter 
the  waiter  with  a  message  that  two  Japanese  gentle- 
men outside  wish  to  see  her.  She  goes  and  returns 
with  a  worried  look.  The  gentlemen  have  seen  in  a 


A  JAPANESE  CONEY  ISLAND          259 

Japanese  paper  a  notice  about  the  young  lady's  in- 
terest in  Japanese  religions.  They  have  come  down 
to  Kobe  to  see  her  and  explain  the  faith  of  Tenrikyo — • 
a  mixture  of  equal  parts  of  Buddhism,  Shintoism, 
Christian  Science,  and  Nonsense. 

The  young  lady  gasped  for  breath  and  evaded  the 
issue  by  telling  them  to  wait  in  the  ship's  sitting-room 
until  she  could  see  them.  Then  she  came  to  me  as 
the  author  of  her  predicament  and  insisted  that  it 
was  up  to  me  to  get  her  out.  Now  what  to  do  ? 

"  Sit  in  the  game,  of  course !  "  was  the  answer. 
"  Nothing  embarrassing  can  happen  to  you  here  on 
your  own  boat.  Let  the  fragrance  of  my  pipe  on 
the  deck  outside  assure  you  that  a  bold  cavalier  will 
rescue  you  if  they  try  to  carry  you  away." 

When  I  promised  to  wait  outside,  I  did  not  under- 
stand that  the  young  lady  was  to  sit  for  two  hours 
in  the  conference,  but  that  was  what  happened.  About 
ten  o'clock  she  came  out  and  pulled  me  in.  I  was 
introduced  to  a  Japanese  priest  and  to  an  elusive  per- 
sonality of  European  descent;  introduced  also  to  the 
object  of  the  meeting.  The  headquarters  of  the  Ten- 
rikyo sect  was  up-country,  they  explained.  There 
was  no  temple  nearer  than  Osaka,  and  to  that  place 
of  worship  was  coming  on  the  morrow  a  crowd  of 
more  than  a  hundred  women  to  meet  the  American 
lady  who  was  to  become  a  convert.  It  was  impor- 
tant, therefore,  that  the  convert  herself  should  be 
present.  But  the  convert  had  cold  perspiration  trick- 
ling down  her  spine  and  refused  to  budge  from  the 
boat  unless  the  originator  of  the  plot  would  go  along. 


260          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

He  went.  The  rendezvous  was  set  for  9  A.  M., 
and  it  was  only  a  short  run  from  Kobe.  At  the  sta- 
tion both  the  young  lady  and  her  bodyguard  decided 
to  duck  and  get  back  to  the  boat — but  just  then  the 
two  apostles  of  Tenrikyo  seized  us  joyfully  and  loaded 
us  into  'rickshaws.  For  an  hour  we  drove  through 
unfamiliar  streets  and  landed  at  a  simple  temple.  A 
priest  in  robes  received  us  as  personages  of  distinc- 
tion and  escorted  us  within.  There,  lined  up  on  their 
knees  like  a  company  of  soldiers,  were  the  members 
of  the  congregation.  They  touched  their  foreheads 
to  the  floor  and  greeted  us  with  reverence.  Next 
came  the  presentation  to  the  High  Priest — a  pleasant- 
faced  young  man  with  a  wife  even  more  agreeable. 

The  conversazione  was  all  too  short — from  the 
Tenrikyo  point  of  view — but  it  had  a  spectacular 
close.  On  the  steps  outside  we  found  a  Japanese  with 
a  camera.  It  was  explained  that  the  honourable 
guests  were  to  be  photographed.  We  consented,  on 
condition  that  the  ceremony  be  brief  and  speedy.  To 
our  amazement,  the  whole  congregation  assembled  on 
the  steps.  The  High  Priest  and  the  Apostles  placed 
the  Americans  in  the  centre  of  the  first  row  and 
arranged  themselves  about  us. 

And  I  have  no  doubt  that,  somewhere  in  that  de- 
lectable land,  there  is  on  exhibition  a  large  photograph, 
with  the  Americans  as  evidence  of  the  success  of  the 
Apostles  in  securing  important  converts  to  the  faith! 
If  there  isn't  then  I  have  not  correctly  sized  up  the 
personalities  of  the  Two  Apostles. 


XXXV 
BY  THE  CASTLE  OF  NAGOYA 

THIS  is  the  only  one  of  the  large  cities  of  Japan 
that  is  not  covered  by  the  Cleveland  itinerary, 
but  it  is  very  easily  reached  by  train.    Instead 
of  going  from  Kobe  to  Yokohama  by  boat  (a  voyage 
which  is  devoid  of  interest),  one  may  have  the  fun 
of  riding  in  a  regular  Japanese  train,  and  stop  off 
at  Nagoya  for  a  night. 

And,  let  me  say  in  passing,  those  who  go  to  Japan 
and  miss  the  experience  of  riding  second-class  among 
the  Japanese  passengers  miss  a  lot.  For  instance,  the 
courtesy  of  Japanese  railroad  men.  A  porter  enters 
the  car  to  announce  that  the  next  station  is  Numadzu. 
He  takes  off  his  cap  and  makes  a  profound  bow  be- 
fore doing  so.  And  then  the  Japanese  wayside  lunch. 
At  one  of  the  express  stations  about  noon-time  you 
see  a  group  of  vendors  going  about  with  little  wooden 
boxes.  You  notice  your  Japanese  fellow-passengers 
buying  them,  and  soon  discover  that  there  is  food 
on  the  inside.  You  buy  one  at  a  venture  and  find 
nothing  inside  except  rice.  Then  you  buy  one  that 
has  a  different  set  of  characters  on  the  label,  and  it 
turns  out  to  be  full  of  as  many  different  kinds  of  food 
as  may  be  found  on  an  ordinary  menu-card.  Some 

261 


262          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

of  it  is  good,  and  some  is  abominable.  But  all  of  it 
is  pure  fun. 

I  landed  at  Nagoya  in  the  rain,  but  no  sunlight  was 
needed  to  show  that  it  is  a  fine  modern  city.  Its 
chief  point  of  interest  is  the  Castle  of  Nagoya,  a  five- 
storied  donjon  of  quaint  architecture.  Its  spectacular 
feature  is  the  pair  of  gold  dolphins  that  surmount  it 
and  are  visible  all  over  the  city.  The  scales  of  the 
dolphins  are  said  to  have  been  made  from  18,000  old 
Japanese  gold  coins,  having  a  value  of  about  a  million 
and  a  half  dollars.  Maybe  so. 

But  the  most  delightful  experience  of  Nagoya  cen- 
tres in  the  hotel.  The  Hotel  Nagoya  is  a  European 
hostelry  but  it  has  a  Japanese  annex,  both  being  under 
the  management  of  a  Japanese  gentleman  and  his 
cultivated  wife.  They  know  how  to  make  the  travel- 
ler comfortable  and  give  him  a  visit  to  be  remembered. 
The  Japanese  annex  is  a  Japanese  dream,  and  happy 
is  the  foreigner  who  chooses  it  instead  of  the  Euro- 
pean department  with  its  familiar  furniture.  And  to 
sleep  on  Japanese  mattresses,  after  a  quaint  native 
dinner,  and  hear  the  rain  pattering  on  the  roof  and 
the  wind  rustling  the  screens — ah!  a  world-cruise  is 
not  complete  without  a  few  experiences  like  that. 

The  next  morning  you  may  resume  your  journey 
in  either  direction,  for  you  have  broken  it  as  nearly 
as  practicable  in  the  middle.  And  the  experience  is 
so  full  of  unalloyed  pleasure  that  you  are  tempted 
to  break  it  again  somewhere. 


XXXVI 
THE  WILES  OF  YOKOHAMA 

THE  bazaar-keepers  of  Yokohama  should  be  on 
the  payroll  of  the  U.  S.  Treasury  Department, 
for  they  keep  the  cash-registers  in  the  New 
York  and  San  Francisco  customs-houses  playing  a 
merry  tune.  The  coming  of  the  Cleveland  is  a  great 
event  in  Yokohama;  it  brings  out  all  the  American 
flags  that  the  town  can  scrape  together,  and  it  also 
brings  out  a  double  line  of  bowing  distributors  of 
printed  matter — a  line  that  extends  from  the  foot  of 
the  gang-plank  to  some  unmeasured  distance  up  the 
horizon.  And  when  it  is  all  over  and  the  Cleveland 
has  sailed  away,  do  the  bazaar-keepers  get  together 
and  make  merry  as  they  describe  their  sales?  Well, 
do  they? 

But  Yokohama  is  also  an  event  to  the  passengers 
of  the  Cleveland.  Suppose  you  did  pay  a  lot  more 
for  that  mandarin  coat  than  you  would  have  paid  in 
San  Francisco?  You  had  the  fun  of  buying  it,  after 
refusing  it  and  having  the  bazaar-keeper  chase  you 
all  the  way  to  the  boat.  Besides,  all  that  you  had 
to  pay  on  it  over  here  were  the  customs-officer's 
charges !  And  you,  Sister,  who  paid  thirty-five  dollars 
too  much  for  that  pongee  silk  dress,  you  have  had 
your  money  back  several  times  since  you  got  home, 

263 


264          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

as  you  have  lorded  it  over  the  girl  whose  pongee  was 
seen  in  Epstein's  window. 

More  good  Cleveland  money  is  spent  in  Yokohama, 
I  suppose,  than  in  any  other  port.  The  merchants  are 
men  of  long  experience  in  foreign  trade;  they  know 
that  the  American  woman  doesn't  want  a  Japanese 
kimono;  she  wants  something  gaudy  that  will  make 
a  streetful  of  people  giddy  every  time  she  flashes  it 
from  the  front  porch — and  the  Yokohama  bazaar- 
keeper  is  very  obliging  about  letting  you  have  what 
you  want,  even  when  you  don't  want  it.  In  Tokyo, 
where  they  have  come  to  the  high  standard  of  depart- 
ment stores,  you  cannot  buy  what  you  want;  for  the 
Tokyo  merchants  stock  up  mainly  for  their  Japanese 
patronage.  If  you  see  what  you  want  in  Yokohama, 
buy  it ;  but  do  not  buy  it  on  your  first  visit.  Bargains 
in  Japan  become  much  cheaper  with  age,  and  the 
bottom  drops  out  just  as  the  ship  is  about  to  carry 
your  pocket-book  away.  But  no  matter  what  you 
buy  or  how  much  you  pay  for  it,  it  is  bully  good 
fun  to  shop  here. 

But,  just  between  you  and  me,  I  don't  think  much 
of  Yokohama.  It  was  a  great  disappointment  to  me 
when  I  first  visited  it,  and  since  then  I  spend  in  the 
town  only  the  time  that  is  required  for  a  'rickshaw 
to  go  from  the  pier  to  that  particular  bazaar  where 
you  may  buy  a  ticket  for  Tokyo.  But  a  lot  of  other 
men  do  like  Yokohama — like  it  very  much  indeed. 
And  when  they  get  back  on  the  boat,  there  are  many 
mirthful  sayings  in  the  smoking  salon. 

For  instance,  there  is  a  place  called  "  The  Hun- 


THE  WILES  OF  YOKOHAMA  265 

dred  Steps  "  and  a  famous  tea-house  is  there.  Its 
press-agent  says  that  Commodore  Perry  was  the  first 
foreigner  to  stop  there,  and  that  he  wrote  a  poem 
on  a  Japanese  fan — which  shows  that  an  American 
should  be  very  careful  in  a  tea-house  when  the  tureen 
of  hot  saki  comes  around.  I  have  seen  several  poems 
on  the  Cleveland  that  must  have  been  composed  at 
this  tea-house.  Now  Yokohama  is  a  sailors'  town, 
and  the  Commodore  is  to  be  commended  for  living 
up  to  the  traditions  of  sea-faring  men  on  shore-leave. 
Really,  though,  the  press-agent  should  have  left  out 
that  other  sentence — "  and  tried  to  play  some  Japa- 
nese airs  on  a  koto  (harp)."  If  I  mistake  not,  the 
Commodore  has  descendants,  and  they  are  entitled  to 
consideration. 

But  did  you  catch  that  about  the  narrow  escape 
of  General  Grant,  on  his  tour  of  the  world? 

"  When  General  Grant  came  to  Japan,  he  came  twice  to  the 
foot  of  the  Hundred  Steps,  meaning  to  visit  the  tea-house,  but 
was  prevented  both  times  from  walking  up  the  stairs  by  strong 
winds  and  rain.  He  sent  his  Secretary,  Mr.  Young,  to  the  house 
to  express  his  regrets." 

Let  us  congratulate  Mr.  Young  and  hope  that  he 
made  the  most  of  his  opportunity.  But  would  you 
have  believed  that  a  warrior  accustomed  to  "  fight  it 
out  on  this  line,  if  it  takes  all  summer  "  would  have 
let  a  little  wind  and  rain  turn  him  back  from  a  tea- 
house that  has  only  a  hundred  steps? 

Shopping  for  the  ladies  and  high  jinks  for  the  men 
— that  is  Yokohama.  If  you  have  no  money  for  shop- 


266          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

ping  and  no  inclination  for  high  jinks,  you  can  be 
in  Tokyo  in  half  an  hour. 

If  you  think  that  I  am  wrong  in  thus  summing  up 
this  great  Japanese  port,  you  are  respectfully  referred 
to  the  Guide-Book  issued  by  the  Welcome  Society  of 
Japan.  There  you  will  find  79  lines  devoted  to 
Yokohama,  subdivided  in  this  way:  Hotels,  8  lines; 
Yokohama  in  general,  6  lines;  consulates,  churches, 
etc.,  6  lines;  environs,  30  lines;  principal  shops,  29 
lines. 

Oh,  yes!  This  is  the  place  where  we  got  our 
medals.  The  Secretary  of  the  Chamber  of  Commerce 
came  down  to  the  boat  and  made  an  oration.  Perhaps 
he  told  us  the  truth  about  us,  for  it  was  in  Japanese. 
Then  Dr.  Hough  made  a  beautiful  response,  to  which 
the  Secretary  listened  with  that  intentness  and  gravity 
that  becomes  a  man  who  hasn't  the  least  idea  what 
the  other  is  saying.  Then  a  basketful  of  medals  was 
produced  and  the  passengers  fought  over  them. 

What  were  the  medals  for?  No,  Gladys,  they 
were  not  Girdlers'  medals,  like  that  which  the  King 
of  Spain  gave  Sebastian  Del  Cano  on  the  first  world- 
cruise.  They  had  some  hieroglyphics  on  them  which 
I  should  translate  in  this  free  and  easy  fashion : 

"  The  merchants  of  Yokohama  will  take  note  that  the  Reuben 
who  comes  into  your  bazaar  with  this  pinned  on  him  is  an 
American  by  the  name  of  Easy  Money.  If  you  have  any  dead 
stock  on  hand,  here  is  your  chance.  You  can  soak  him  to  your 
heart's  content,  for  he  hasn't  the  least  idea  about  values.  His 
head  is  dizzy  in  this  atmosphere  and  everything  looks  good  to 
him.  And  if  this  medal  approaches  you  with  a  shirtwaist  back- 
ground— oh,  it's  a  shame  to  take  the  money !  But  go  ahead  and 
take  it.  By  order  of  the  Yokohama  Chamber  of  Commerce." 


XXXVII 
BEFORE  BUDDHA  AT  KAMAKURA 

"  Oh,  ye  who  tread  the  Narrow  Way 
By  Tophet-flare  to  Judgment  Day, 
Be  gentle  when  the  '  heathen '  pray 
To  Buddha  at  Kamakura!" 

HE  sits  out  in  the  open,  with  the  sky  for  his 
temple  roof  and  the  outspreading  branches  of 
the  trees  for  his  walls.  Twice  the  temples 
that  were  built  to  enclose  him  were  wrenched  from 
their  foundations  and  piled  in  a  heap;  and  in  1495 
came  a  great  tidal  wave  that  swept  everything  except 
the  Daibutsu  into  nothingness.  Through  it  all,  the 
crashing  of  the  timbers  and  the  lashing  of  the  waves, 
Buddha  sat  tight,  with  the  ends  of  his  thumbs  to- 
gether, as  he  sits  to-day.  And  so  he  has  sat  in  the 
grove  near  Kamakura  for  six  and  a  half  centuries, 
the  finest  image  in  a  land  of  images  and  perhaps  the 
finest  large  Buddha  in  the  world.  The  dimensions  ? 

Height,  49^2  ft. ;  circumference,  97  ft. ;  length  of  face,  8%  ft. ; 
width  from  ear  to  ear,  19  ft.,  9  inches ;  round  boss  on  forehead, 
i  ft.,  3J/2  inches ;  length  of  eye,  4  ft. ;  ear,  &/2  ft. ;  nose  3  ft.,  9 
inches ;  mouth,  3  ft.,  2  inches ;  length  from  knee  to  knee,  35  ft., 
8  inches ;  circumference  of  thumb,  3  ft.  There  are  830  curls,  each 
being  i  ft.  in  diameter  and  10  inches  high. 

267 


268          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

Tell  me,  ye  who  to-day  cast  bronze  images  of 
horses  and  men  and  yet  more  terrible  bronze  artillery, 
was  it  not  an  achievement  to  have  cast  that  Daibutsu 
240  years  before  Columbus  came  over  the  sea? 

Men  whose  judgment  I  respect  have  called  the 
Daibutsu  "  dull  and  stupid."  But  if  the  artist  were 
called  back  from  the  place  of  the  forgotten,  he  would 
doubtless  reply  that  Buddha  in  contemplation  is  the 
ideal  of  absorption  and  self-effacement. 

It  is  somewhat  gratifying  to  me  to  happen  upon 
this  passage  from  Lafcadio  Hearn's  "  Glimpses  of 
Unfamiliar  Japan  "  : 

"The  gentleness,  the  dreamy  passionlessness  of  those  features 
— are  full  of  beauty  and  charm.  And,  contrary  to  all  expecta- 
tion, the  nearer  you  approach  the  giant  Buddha,  the  greater  this 
charm  becomes.  You  look  up  into  the  solemnly  beautiful  face — 
into  the  half-closed  eyes  that  seem  to  watch  you  through  their 
eyelids  of  bronze  as  gently  as  those  of  a  child;  and  you  feel 
that  the  image  typifies  all  that  is  tender  and  calm  in  the  Soul 
of  the  East." 

And  do  not  forget,  as  you  wander  about  the  temples 
and  other  beautiful  scenes  about  Kamakura,  that  this 
quaint  little  fishing  village  was  once  the  capital  of 
Japan — from  the  twelfth  to  the  fifteenth  centuries. 
And  wander  you  may,  freely ;  I  have  it  on  the  author- 
ity of  the  Kaihin-in  Hotel  that  "  the  grounds  are 
protected  from  the  invasion  of  demons  by  the  Ni-O, 
India  and  Brahma  who  Keep  guard  at  the  outer  gate." 
Which  goes  to  show  that  often  in  this  perilous  world 
we  pass  in  security  through  great  dangers  without 
realizing  to  whom  we  are  indebted! 


XXXVIII 
IN  THE  CITY  OF  THE  MIKADO 

NO,  Sir  Frederick.  I  cannot  agree  that  "  Civili- 
zation fell  upon  the  gracious  city  like  a  dis- 
figuring disease."  I  know  that  The  Ginza  is 
both  straight  and  wide,  and  that  it  is  flanked  by  mod- 
ern buildings;  it  has  trolley-cars  and  telephone  wires 
and  department  stores;  but  all  of  these  disfigurements 
are  amazingly  convenient  to  the  traveller  at  times. 
Did  you  object  also  to  the  fire  in  your  room  at  the 
hotel?  But  you  would  have  made  much  more  ado  if 
there  had  been  only  the  little  charcoal  brazier  of  the 
old  Yedo  days. 

I  call  up  the  memory  of  every  impression  that  was 
distinct  enough  to  leave  a  trace,  and  nine  out  of  ten 
of  them  are  thoroughly  Japanese.  One  of  the  reasons 
why  Tokyo  means  so  much  to  me  is  traceable,  to  the 
fact  that  I  was  an  inconspicuous  traveller,  having  no 
relations  with  the  official  life.  Generally  alone,  often 
on  foot,  and  frequently  at  night,  I  occupied  myself 
mostly  with  the  everyday  human  life  of  the  streets  and 
the  shops  of  Tokyo,  noting  its  shadows  as  well  as  its 
high-lights.  And  it  is  to  the  city  of  the  Mikado  that  I 
am  indebted  for  much  of  what  little  insight  into  the 
Japanese  character  that  I,  as  a  transient  visitor,  may 
have. 

269 


270          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

Like  some  unfamiliar  perfume  that  lingers  in  the 
nostrils  comes  to  me  the  memory  of  Japan's  courtesy 
to  the  stranger  within  its  gates.  Oh  yes,  I  know  that 
much  of  it  is  formal  and  insincere,  and  that  some  of  it 
is  the  welcome  of  the  spider  to  the  fly.  Even  so,  there 
is  no  land  that  I  know  of  anywhere  around  this  old 
globe  where  a  traveller  may  be  fleeced  so  painlessly 
and  with  such  delicate  courtesy.  But  note,  if  you  will, 
that  deferential  manners  are  not  a  monopoly  of  the 
shopkeeper.  The  grinning  coolie,  who  hitched  himself 
up  and  pulled  me  along  the  streets  of  Tokyo,  could 
not  have  been  more  gracious  if  he  had  been  hauling 
the  Prince  of  Wales.  Any  sort  of  gruffness  or  rude- 
ness on  the  part  of  a  Japanese  is  to  me  absolutely  un- 
thinkable; it  came  as  a  shock  if  it  ever  came  at  all — 
even  from  a  native  reeling  home  on  a  holiday  night 
after  too  much  dallying  with  the  saki  bowl.  Surely 
this  characteristic  of  Tokyo  is  not  one  of  the  modern 
symptoms  of  "  a  disfiguring  disease." 

There  also  I  had  impressed  upon  me  the  Japanese 
gentleness  toward  children.  Once,  I  believe,  in  all 
Japan,  I  saw  a  mother  smack  a  child's  face.  But  again 
and  again,  in  driving  through  those  miles  of  narrow 
streets  that  are  as  they  were  in  days  of  old,  my  'rick- 
shaw man  stopped  with  a  jerk  (but  without  swear 
words)  when  a  toddling  baby  or  a  playing  youngster 
got  himself  in  the  middle  of  the  way.  The  Tokyo 
right-of-way  seems  to  be  to  the  child  and  not  to  the 
vehicle ;  it  is  the  same  consideration  that  the  smoking 
steamer  gives  to  the  fishing  smack  that  cannot  always 
veer  at  the  psychological  moment.  They  carry  this 


IN  THE  CITY  OF  THE  MIKADO        271 

consideration  to  an  extreme  and  perpetuate  a  custom 
that  allows  the  baby  to  be  humoured  and  coddled  far 
beyond  the  age  at  which  Western  children  must  scram- 
ble for  themselves.  A  hard-working  woman  of  the 
lower  class  will  toil  patiently  with  a  husky,  red-cheeked 
baby  strapped  to  her  back;  and  plenty  of  the  boys  and 
girls  in  Tokyo  to-day  are  carrying  brothers  and  sisters 
that  are  large  enough  to  be  in  school.  But  let  a  "  kid  " 
land  in  front  of  a  huckster  or  a  motor-car  in  the  mod- 
ern city  in  which  I  live,  and  see  what  happens ! 

And  then,  did  you  not  notice,  all  over  the  native 
streets  of  Tokyo  and  elsewhere,  the  little  sprays  of 
blossoms  in  the  shops  and  homes?  And  if  the  little 
establishment  were  unable  to  procure  a  flower  of  some 
kind,  there  was  a  variegated  vegetable  of  some  de- 
scription! It  is  not  particularly  significant  that  the 
Japanese  should  love  their  wonderful  cherry-blossoms, 
their  gorgeous  chrysanthemums,  and  their  stately 
cryptomerias ;  there  is  no  nation  with  a  soul  so  dead 
that  it  could  not  appreciate  these.  But  see  how  even  the 
coolie  loves  the  little  dwarf-pine  in  his  flower  pot,  or  the 
little  plum-branch  that  has  only  a  few  pink  buds.  And 
as  you  wander  about  the  empire,  stopping  in  Japanese 
inns,  you  may  sometimes  find  a  piece  of  furniture  miss- 
ing, or  the  charcoal  supply  may  be  scant — but  the  vase 
that  holds  a  spray  of  buds  or  a  single  flower  is  always 
standing  in  the  corner  beneath  the  kakemono  panel. 
Exquisite  and  delicate  taste  comes  to  the  surface  in 
this  love  for  flowers  and  other  growing  things — and 
it  is  inbred  in  the  heart  of  the  Japanese.  That  is  one 
reason  why  the  little  farms  of  the  empire  are  so  charm- 


272          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

ing ;  every  plant  in  it  has  a  personality.  Compare  with 
this  the  attitude  of  the  Hindu,  even  toward  animals — 
which,  in  his  philosophy,  are  also  fellow-men  of  some 
previous  existence. 

In  Tokyo  also,  if  you  will  spend  most  of  your  time 
in  the  streets  where  Tokyo  lives,  you  cannot  fail  to  be 
impressed  with  the  industry  of  Japan.  Everybody 
works,  and  works  hard — women  and  children  as  well 
as  men.  At  times  it  is  pitiful,  and  yet  it  is  heartening 
to  see  the  patient  toil  of  this  remarkable  people.  An 
aged  woman  with  a  staggering  load  on  her  bent  back 
has  walked  all  the  way  into  Tokyo  from  some  out- 
lying precinct,  but  her  weather-beaten  face  bears  a  look 
of  patient  resignation.  And  do  you  not  remember  the 
cheery  faces  that  shone  through  the  grime  of  coal- 
dust  on  the  rope-ladders  at  Nagasaki? 

And  amid  the  clouds  of  coal-dust  there  at  the  coal- 
ing of  the  ship  you  saw  Japanese  who  were  not  clean. 
But  where  else  did  you  see  that  phenomenon?  In 
what  other  land  that  you  have  traversed  would  you  be 
reckless  enough  to  sleep  and  eat  in  a  native  inn?  It 
is  recorded  in  an  official  report  at  Honolulu  that  one 
of  the  difficulties  about  Japanese  labour  on  the  sugar- 
plantations  in  Hawaii  arises  from  the  lack  of  running 
water — for  that  is  one  of  the  absolute  necessities  of 
life  to  a  Japanese,  wherever  he  is.  An  American  lady, 
resident  in  Tokyo,  who  is  herself  a  model  when  it 
comes  to  housekeeping,  told  me,  with  much  amusement, 
of  her  experience  with  the  sanitary  officials  of  the  capi- 
tal city.  At  stated  times  a  government  inspector  calls 
at  her  tidy  home  and  gravely  serves  her  with  a  notice 


MR.  AISAKU  HAYASHI,  OF  THE  IMPERIAL 


IN  THE  CITY  OF  THE  MIKADO        273 

that  she  must  "  clean  house  "  by  a  given  date.  On  that 
date  he  returns  and  gravely  (though  with  much  cour- 
tesy) discharges  his  duty — one  feature  of  which  is  the 
lifting  of  the  mats  to  see  if  there  be  dust  collected 
underneath !  Now,  what  would  you  say,  Aunt  Susan, 
if  a  constable  were  to  come  to  your  castle  and  tell  you 
that  he  wanted  to  look  under  the  rug  in  the  back 
parlour  ? 

A  city  of  indefatigable  toil;  one  that  is  clean  and 
beautifully  neat;  one  that  cultivates  the  grace  of  cour- 
tesy and  nurtures  the  love  of  flowers  and  of  children 
and  of  parents — surely  the  blight  of  modernity  has 
not  settled  upon  Tokyo  to  such  a  regrettable  extent  as 
some  may  think. 

In  Tokyo,  as  in  Bombay,  much  of  the  traveller's 
life  centres  in  the  hotel.  At  Yokohama,  you  remem- 
ber, everything  was  modern  at  the  Grand;  it  was  as 
un-Japanese  as  the  Tremont  in  Boston.  But  at  the 
Imperial  in  Tokyo,  you  did  not  have  to  pinch  yourself 
to  be  sure  that  you  were  in  Japan.  The  obliging  young 
gentlemen  behind  the  desk  were  all  watermarked  with 
the  latest  date  of  modernity,  but  the  man  who  was  their 
lord  of  high  decision  went  softly  about  the  place  in 
the  garb  of  a  Samurai  gentleman.  And  can  you  ever 
forget  the  winning  graciousness  of  the  matron,  whose 
whole  attitude  was  one  of  the  profoundest  and  most 
natural  courtesy?  And  surely  she  has  the  sweetest 
voice  that  the  Creator  of  women  ever  bestowed  upon 
her  sex. 

You  who  go  to  Tokyo  later,  ask  somebody  to  intro- 
duce you  to  Mr.  Hayashi,  the  manager  of  this  hotel, 


274          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

if  you  want  to  meet  one  of  the  finest  gentlemen  in 
Japan — from  a  traveller's  viewpoint.  And  from  an 
American  viewpoint,  he  is  even  more  interesting,  for  he 
was  once  a  Northfield  student — one  of  Mr.  Moody's 
men.  He  might  be  as  modern  as  your  latest  matinee- 
idol  if  he  chose,  but  he  doesn't  choose.  The  remem- 
brance of  this  fine  type  of  the  national  character  is  as 
strongly  with  me  to-day  as  the  recollection  of  the  pink 
cherry-tree  in  the  dining-room  and  the  fragrant  after- 
noon tea  that  the  little  butterfly  maidens  served  in  the 
lobby  with  such  exquisite  courtesy. 

Go,  if  you  will,  to  Shiba  and  Ueno  Parks;  pass  the 
evening  in  the  hotel  lobby  or  in  the  fine  Japanese 
theatres;  or  celebrate  the  joy  of  your  visit  to  Japan 
by  a  merry-making  at  the  Maple  Club  or  other  less  cele- 
brated tea-house.  My  soul  yearns  only  for  the  long 
'rickshaw  rides  through  the  endless,  winding  streets,  all 
ablaze  with  Japanese  lanterns  decorated  with  hiero- 
glyphics, and  along  which  race  the  temple-boys  with 
their  jingle  of  bells.  And  do  you  not  still  hear  the 
hoarse  gutturals  of  the  'rickshaw  men  as  they  trot 
through  the  crowded  lanes,  and  the  clacking  of  the 
wooden  shoes  on  the  pavements?  And  if  you  thus  dis- 
sipated in  Tokyo  on  a  moonlight  night  in  winter,  or 
with  your  coolie  splashing  through  the  cold  rain  that 
beat  in  your  face,  surely  the  gods  were  gracious  unto 
you! 

Of  the  much  that  is  in  my  heart  to  say  of  Tokyo,  one 
significant  fact  may  have  glided  past  you  in  the  whirl 
of  things.  It  has  not  been  long  since  the  great  Russian 
war,  and  the  empire  is  full  of  wounded  and  maimed 


IN  THE  CITY  OF  THE  MIKADO        275 

soldiers.  But  where  were  they?  A  cripple  in  the 
streets  of  Tokyo  is  as  rare  as  an  albino.  And  did  you 
see  ex-soldiers  going  around  in  army  uniforms  and 
wearing  G.A.R.  badges?  The  only  wreckage  of  war 
that  I  found  was  in  the  Naval  Museum. 

But  there  is  a  wreckage  in  Tokyo  that  I  did  see — 
and  so  did  you,  Eunice,  for  I  met  you  going  as  I  was 
coming.  In  the  two  Yoshiwara  districts  on  the  out- 
skirts of  the  city,  each  of  which  seems  to  be  larger 
than  the  other,  is  the  most  amazing  spectacle  of  woman- 
hood that  the  world  has  on  public  exhibition.  It  may 
be  seen  by  the  traveller  without  embarrassment  or  loss 
of  self-respect,  for  it  is  open  to  the  highway  and  may 
be  viewed  from  a  passing  'rickshaw.  It  is  a  vision 
that  makes  the  heart  ache  one  moment,  and  which  then 
dazzles  the  eye  in  a  moment  of  forgetfulness.  You 
may  ride  for  an  hour  in  either  of  these  districts  and 
still  not  have  passed  all  of  the  show-windows  and  their 
pathetic  exhibits.  But  when  you  have  seen  half  a 
dozen  houses,  you  have  seen  everything  except  the 
extent. 

This  is  what  it  is  like.  House  No.  I  has  a  show- 
window  whose  floor  is  about  on  a  level  with  your 
shoulders.  It  is  about  twelve  feet  long  and  ten  feet 
deep,  with  grating  instead  of  glass  on  the  street  side. 
The  floor  of  this  window  is  covered  with  matting  and 
there  are  charcoal  braziers  glowing  within.  Ranged 
on  the  floor  at  the  farther  side  of  the  little  room  are 
the  Yoshiwara  girls — from  six  to  fifteen  of  them. 
They  are  all  dressed  alike  and  in  the  gorgeous  cos- 
tumes of  the  coloured  Japanese  postcards.  Sometimes 


276          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

they  are  smiling  and  chatting,  but  generally  they  are 
like  plaster  images  of  Japanese  beauty.  It  is  a  rare 
exception  that  one  is  pert  or  in  the  least  offensive. 
Half  of  them  are  smoking  tiny  pipes,  and  these  are 
passed  through  the  grating  to  you  if  you  stop  on  the 
sidewalk.  Most  of  them  seem  to  be  between  the  ages 
of  eighteen  and  twenty-two — and  one  wonders  what 
happens  to  those  who  pass  the  age-limit.  Pass  to  the 
next  window — it  is  the  same  spectacle,  except  that  the 
colour-scheme  is  different.  In  a  block  of  twenty 
houses,  there  will  be  perhaps  fifteen  different  blazes 
of  colour,  but  all  the  girls  in  each  window  are  cos- 
tumed alike.  And  the  costume  is  that  of  the  ordinary 
Japanese  geisha ;  there  is  not  the  remotest  suggestion  of 
immodesty  about  costume  or  manners.  To  drive  down 
one  of  the  longer  streets  (which  are  wide)  with  all  of 
these  windows  brilliantly  lighted  and  displaying  to  the 
fullest  advantage  the  gorgeous  costumes  of  the  poor 
little  women  behind  the  bars — that  is  a  spectacle  that 
is  not  to  be  seen  in  any  other  part  of  the  world,  and 
one  that  can  never  be  banished  from  the  mind.  But 
it  is  a  spectacle  pathetic  beyond  the  reach  of  words. 


A  JAPANESE  INN 


XXXIX 
FUN  IN  A  JAPANESE  INN 

NOW  take  hold  of  a  chair  and  steady  yourself, 
Eunice,  while  I  give  you  a  great  shock.  You 
have  read  plenty  of  books  about  Japan  and 
you  know  in  advance  that  every  hotel  experience  in- 
cludes a  bath,  one  or  more  curious  and  persistent  maid- 
servants, and  a  blushing  traveller  who  has  exhausted 
all  his  ingenuity  in  vainly  trying  to  shoo  them  away. 
Now  I  have  spent  many  nights  in  Japanese  hotels,  from 
Nikko  to  Osaka ;  and  I  have  taken  baths  when  I  didn't 
want  them  in  order  to  see  what  would  happen. 

And  now  prepare  to  be  shocked.  In  not  a  single 
instance  has  a  Japanese  girl  ever  offered  to  give  me  a 
bath  or  remained  on  the  horizon  as  a  spectator. 

Now,  it  happens  that  the  only  Japanese  women 
whom  I  know  intimately  are  little  hotel  maids.  Listen, 
therefore,  to  an  impression  of  Japanese  womanhood 
that  is  based  mainly  upon  this  experience :  Unattractive 
to  Western  eyes  except  when  "  made  up,"  with  an  un- 
lovely mouth,  little  slits  of  eyes,  and  a  most  ungainly 
walk,  deep  down  in  her  soul  she  is  the  cleanest,  purest, 
truest,  noblest  of  all  the  products  of  Japan.  Now  that 
the  worst  is  over,  let  us  have  a  little  story. 

Do  you  remember  those  little  eddies  in  the  promen- 
277 


278          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

ade  deck  just  back  of  the  smoking-room,  the  little  Stag 
Parlour  where  the  Pipe  Brigade  threshed  out  all  the 
great  problems  of  human  interest?  Then  you  may 
recall  "  The  Geyser,"  a  name  given  to  him  as  a  fitting 
tribute  to  a  loquacity  that  spurted  forth  from  a  sub- 
terranean reservoir  whose  high  pressure  never  dimin- 
ished. He  could  always  be  relied  upon  to  spring 
blithely  into  any  conversation  on  any  subject  beneath 
or  beyond  the  stars. 

One  day  in  the  China  Sea  the  pow-wow  took  a 
sociological  turn  and  veered  off  in  the  direction  of  the 
eternal  feminine.  The  Geyser  had  just  read  his  third 
book  about  Japan,  and  he  had  his  mind  made  up  about 
the  Japanese  woman.  He  explained  to  the  Bunch  that 
he  expected  to  see  Japan  only  once  in  a  lifetime  and  he 
wanted  all  the  unique  experiences  that  were  coming  to 
him.  He  outlined  his  programme  with  some  detail. 

Then  came  Nagasaki,  like  the  awakening  from  a 
narcotic  sleep.  The  Japanese  girls  who  clambered  up 
the  sides  of  the  ship  were  not  of  the  fragile,  cloisonne 
type  that  he  was  looking  for ;  they  were  muscular  and 
dumpy  and  covered  with  grime.  They  were  a  cheerful 
little  crowd,  passing  baskets  of  coal  along  like  volun- 
teer firemen  at  a  village  fire — cheerful  although  they 
worked  barehanded  and  barefooted  in  the  chill  of  a 
cold,  drizzling  rain.  Brave  and  smiling  and  uncom- 
plaining within  the  confines  of  a  restricted  life,  they 
were  the  redeeming  feature  of  that  dreary  landscape. 
But  even  the  most  charitable  passenger  could  not  say 
that  they  were  good-looking. 

There  remained  the  possibility  that  they  might  be — 


FUN  IN  A  JAPANESE  INN  279 

delightfully  naive.  He  then  went  in  due  course  to  one 
of  the  European  hotels  in  a  distinctly  Japanese  city, 
and  made  up  his  mind  to  accept  the  personal  attention 
of  his  femme-de-chambre  as  nonchalantly  as  if  ac- 
customed to  it  all  his  life.  But  he  found,  to  his  amaze- 
ment, that  his  femme-de-chambre  was  a  boy.  Then, 
with  a  firm  hand,  he  pressed  the  button  and  ordered  a 
bath — fully  determined  not  to  show  traces  of  embar- 
rassment when  the  girl  came  to  lead  him  to  it.  But 
history  records  the  amazing  fact  that  he  made  his  en- 
trance to  and  exit  from  the  bath  without  hearing  the 
sound  of  a  feminine  voice.  The  bath  was  cleansing 
and  exhilarating,  but  it  was  certainly  not  embarrassing. 
Some  days  later,  in  Tokyo  and  Yokohama,  he  made 
a  circuit  of  the  districts  where  the  Japanese  girl  sits 
with  that  look  of  stolid  despair  that  comes  into  the 
features  of  a  girl  who  has  passed  over  a  bridge  into 
a  wretched  land,  and  to  whom  it  is  not  permitted  to 
retrace  her  steps.  Then,  when  all  were  again  aboard 
and  the  Pipe  Brigade  was  lined  up,  the  Geyser  ex- 
hausted three  pipefuls  of  tobacco  in  his  remarks  about 
Japanese  womanhood.  The  others  contributed  their 
mites  of  experience  and  everybody  reached  the  same 
conclusion,  which  never  happened  before.  And  the 
conclusion  was  that  Japanese  womanhood  is  by  far  the 
most  hopeful  thing  in  the  empire,  and  that  the  little 
brown  mother  is  worth  more  to  it  than  all  the  Elder 
Statesmen  and  their  descendants. 

Now,  let  us  call  a  'rickshaw  and  go  to  our  Japanese 
inn.     The  management  of  the  Imperial  has  engaged 


280          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

accommodations  and  carefully  explained  that  the  food 
and  the  bed  will  be  Japanese,  and  that  there  is  no  one 
in  the  hotel  who  understands  a  word  of  English.  I 
knew  only  six  words  of  Japanese,  but  why  worry  over 
what  you  don't  know  ? 

The  'rickshaw  stops  in  front  of  a  gateway  that  looks 
like  that  of  a  private  house,  and  the  driver  insists  that 
this  is  the  Okamoto.  Through  the  gate  we  go  and 
land  in  front  of  a  doorway.  Out  come  two  Japanese 
men  in  sombre  kimonos,  like  monks  with  hands  folded 
in  prayer.  There  is  much  bowing  and  some  conver- 
sationing — and  no  little  grinning  on  my  part.  One  of 
the  men  claps  his  hands  and  two  girls  appear  on  the 
scene ;  I  am  invited  to  sit  down  on  the  steps  while  one 
of  them  removes  my  shoes  and  slips  on  the  slippers; 
and  No.  2.  vanishes  with  my  suitcase.  Everybody  is 
giggling  except  the  grave  manager  and  the  guest,  who 
merely  grins. 

With  a  parting  look  at  my  shoes,  I  obey  the  signal 
to  follow  the  leader,  and  the  little  maid  trots  up  a  flight 
of  stairs  and  winds  around  corners  until  I  have  lost 
all  sense  of  direction.  Then  a  panel  is  slid  back  and  I 
am  bowed  into  an  ante-room ;  another  panel,  and  I  am 
in  a  room  about  twelve  feet  square. 

It  is  just  like  a  play-house.  The  floor  is  covered 
with  beautiful  mats  and  the  walls  are  of  beautiful  strips 
of  wood  held  together  with  rice-paper.  (I  wonder  if 
any  wicked  Japanese  boy  ever  tried  to  see  how  many 
rooms  he  could  throw  one  rock  through!)  One  side 
of  the  room  has  a  narrow  platform  raised  about  six 
inches  from  the  floor.  One  end  of  the  platform  is 


FUN  IN  A  JAPANESE  INN  281 

occupied  by  a  dainty  cabinet  that  is  the  Japanese  idea 
of  a  chiffonier.  At  the  other  corner  is  a  vase  in  which 
is  a  single  branch  of  the  plum-tree,  with  tiny  buds 
showing.  Above  this  is  a  simple  painting  hanging  on 
the  wall — the  ever-present  kakemono. 

Now  for  the  furniture.  On  the  side  next  the  plat- 
form, facing  the  entrance,  was  a  blue  sofa-cushion; 
in  front  of  it  was  a  brazier  of  wood  and  brass,  with 
glowing  charcoal.  To  the  right  of  the  cushion  was  an 
unknown  object,  which  turned  out  to  be  an  elbow-rest ; 
on  the  left  was  a  writing-table,  with  legs  about  eight 
inches  high.  It  was  beautifully  lacquered  and  held 
writing  materials,  cigarette-case,  and  ash  receptacle. 
If  there  was  anything  else  in  the  room,  I  have  for- 
gotten it.  I  noted  with  considerable  interest  that  there 
was  no  sign  of  a  bed. 

The  little  Youmie,  incessantly  bowing  and  grinning 
until  her  eyelids  closed  nearly  as  tightly  as  an  oyster, 
showed  me  that  the  blue  cushion  was  a  chair,  and  I 
obediently  folded  up  my  legs  and  occupied  it.  Then 
she  bowed  until  her  forehead  touched  the  floor  and 
slipped  noiselessly  out.  I  toasted  my  fingers  over  the 
charcoal  and  waited  for  the  next  act.  Five  minutes 
later  came  Tay-ee  (I  spell  the  names  like  they  are 
pronounced)  with  a  pot  of  tea  and  some  little  cakes. 
Tay-ee  is  a  show  all  by  herself,  being  amazingly  clever 
in  the  art  of  talking  when  your  tongue  is  useless. 
Down  she  goes  on  her  knees,  the  brazier  being  between 
us,  and  pours  out  the  tea  in  a  tiny  cup  somewhat  larger 
than  a  thimble.  I  drink  six  or  eight  cups  and  have  the 
time  of  my  life  with  the  sign-language.  When  weary 


282          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

of  the  muscular  act  of  swallowing  tea,  Tay-ee  picks 
up  the  tray,  bows  to  me  as  though  I  were  the  great 
Buddha  himself,  and  vanishes.  I  reach  around  and  pat 
myself  on  the  back  and  call  it  a  bully  show. 

Shortly  after  Tay-ee  has  exited,  Youmie  makes  an- 
other entree.  She  insists  upon  talking  Japanese  even 
while  she  makes  pictures  in  the  air.  Am  I  ready  to 
eat?  That  seems  to  be  the  idea. 

Oh,  certainly  not.  I  must  have  my  furo  first.  Furo 
was  one  of  my  six  words  and  means  bath.  Another 
low  bow  and  again  I  am  alone  in  the  world.  More- 
over, I  stay  alone  for  quite  a  while.  Then  the  panel 
slides  noiselessly  and  Youmie  comes  to  say  that  the 
furo  is  ready.  I  get  up  and  straighten  out  the  kinks 
in  my  legs  and  start,  but  Youmie  halts  me.  She  slides 
back  another  little  panel  and  reveals  a  wardrobe;  out 
comes  a  beautiful  silk  kimono,  padded;  out  comes  an- 
other, neatly  washed  and  ironed.  No.  2  is  slipped 
deftly  inside  No.  I,  and  the  little  lady  makes  signs 
that  I  am  to  get  into  them.  (Think  of  a  hotel  that  fur- 
nishes the  nightie!)  Moreover  it  became  apparent, 
from  the  moment  I  removed  my  coat,  that  Youmie 
would  be  among  those  present  while  the  transforma- 
tion was  being  made. 

Do  you  remember  how  cleverly  those  Hindu  women 
at  the  bathing  ghats  got  out  of  one  set  of  clothing  and 
into  another  without  the  least  immodesty?  I  cannot 
think  it  all  out  now,  but  Youmie  got  me  out  of  one  set 
of  clothes  and  into  that  double  kimono  in  some  such 
fashion.  And,  to  my  amazement,  the  clothes  that  I 
took  off  were  thrown  on  the  floor  in  a  pile,  like  rub- 


SAYONARA— SINCE  IT  MUST  BE  SO!" 


A  DE-LUXE  ROOM  IN  A  JAPANESE  INN 


FUN  IN  A  JAPANESE  INN  283 

bish.  (But  when  I  came  to  look  for  them  an  hour 
later,  every  rag  was  folded  and  smoothed  and  tucked 
away  in  the  wardrobe.  Even  my  socks  were  folded  up 
like  a  silk  handkerchief.  Incidentally,  everything  in 
the  pockets  was  taken  out  and  placed  in  a  tray!) 

In  my  new  role  as  a  Japanese  gentleman,  Youmie 
and  I  set  out  for  the  bath.  It  seemed  to  be  down  the 
street  somewhere,  for  we  walked  around  the  corri- 
dors of  that  hotel  until  I  was  bewildered.  We  stopped 
at  last  and  she  slid  back  a  panel ;  it  opened  into  a  ves- 
tibule, and  she  bowed  me  inside.  Then  she  followed. 
Things  were  certainly  developing  along  the  lines  laid 
down  in  the  travel  books! 

She  slid  back  another  panel  and  I  beheld  a  bath- 
room. Then  she  called  out  something  that  sounded  like 
"  Hockensockie,"  and  a  panel  on  the  other  side  slipped 
back.  Through  the  opening  came  a  grinning  face,  fol- 
lowed by  the  muscular  body  of  a  man  clad  only  in  a 
loin-cloth.  Youmie  bowed  most  profoundly  and  van- 
ished; the  athlete  bowed  most  profoundly  and  bade 
me  enter.  I  slipped  off  the  kimonos  and  obeyed. 

And,  oh,  the  joy  of  that  Japanese  furo!  .It  was 
served  in  a  room  about  eight  feet  square,  with  a  floor 
of  soft  wood.  In  one  corner  was  a  wooden  tub,  rect- 
angular. Near  it  was  an  ordinary  faucet.  Hocken- 
sockie seized  a  little  stool,  that  had  legs  six  inches  high, 
and  placed  it  in  the  centre  of  the  room.  Then  he 
scooped  up  a  pail  of  hot  water  and  dashed  it  over  the 
stool.  Then  the  shivering  guest,  upon  whose  arms  the 
goose-pimples  were  popping  up  like  corn  in  a  popper, 
was  invited  to  sit  on  it.  Then  pail  after  pail  of  very 


284.          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

warm  water  was  poured  over  my  shoulders.  You  can- 
not appreciate  how  good  that  feels  unless  you  try  it 
in  a  cold  room  on  a  chilly  day.  Now,  with  grins  and 
bows,  he  motioned  that  I  should  get  into  the  tub. 

I  obeyed  with  alacrity,  stepping  in  with  the  dignity 
of  a  Roman  Senator,  and  quickly  springing  out  with- 
out any  dignity  at  all.  You  could  have  boiled  an  egg 
in  that  water.  Hockensockie  looked  surprised  and 
began  to  draw  cold  water  at  the  faucet  and  pour  it 
into  the  tub.  When  he  got  enough  in,  I  followed  and 
found  the  tub  just  deep  enough  to  bring  the  water 
to  my  chin  when  I  sat  down.  And  there  I  sat  and 
became  most  delightfully  warm  as  I  waited  for  an  in- 
vitation to  come  out,  and  as  Hockensockie  waited  for 
me  to  show  an  inclination  to  emerge. 

Back  on  the  stool  again,  and  more  water  over  my 
shoulders.  Then  came  the  soap,  rubbed  all  over  me, 
followed  by  a  vigorous  scrubbing  with  a  stiff  brush. 
Then  I  was  invited  into  the  tub  again.  When  I 
emerged  the  second  time,  I  again  sat  on  the  stool  and 
was  soused  with  hot  water.  After  this  came  soft 
wooden  sticks  for  manicuring,  and  a  new  wooden 
tooth-brush,  with  tooth-powder  in  a  small  sealed 
package.  Then  I  was  ready  for  the  towelling,  and 
then  back  into  the  kimonos,  feeling  like  a  king.  But 
it  was  up  to  Hockensockie  to  get  me  home  again. 

Now  that  is  the  Japanese  bath — essentially  the  same 
in  every  hotel  that  I  know  of.  Just  what  happens 
when  a  foreign  lady  wants  a  furo  I  can  only  guess. 
And  the  guessing  gives  me  some  amusement. 

Tay-ee  got  herself  lost  in  the  shuffle  at  this  stage 


FUN  IN  A  JAPANESE  INN  285 

of  the  game,  and  I  was  served  at  dinner  by  Noomie. 
And  that  dinner  was  a  picnic  that  lasted  for  two 
hours,  with  Youmie  and  Noomie  both  on  the  job,  and 
with  two  others  who  now  and  then  stole  away  from 
duty  in  order  to  slip  in  and  see  the  show.  I  had  all 
the  assortment  of  Japanese  food,  each  item  in  a  dainty 
dish,  and  then  I  had  giunabe.  I  do  not  know  exactly 
what  giunabe  means  in  Japanese,  but  to  the  traveller 
it  means  "  a  life-saver."  It  is  one  of  the  most  delicious 
ways  of  serving  steak  that  I  know  of.  Cut  up  in  little 
slices,  it  is  brought  into  your  room  (there  is  no  public 
dining-room  in  Japanese  inns)  and  cooked  before 
your  eyes  in  a  sort  of  chafing-dish.  An  active  girl 
can  cook  it  as  fast  as  you  eat. 

On  my  way  to  the  hotel  I  had  stopped  at  a  book- 
store and  bought  a  Japanese  dictionary  to  help  me 
through  the  night,  but  when  I  opened  it  in  my  room 
I  found  to  my  dismay  that  it  was  Japanese-English 
throughout.  I  was,  therefore,  unable  to  point  out  an 
English  word  and  let  the  girls  read  the  answer.  The 
two  hours  of  hilarious  conversation  were,  therefore, 
lop-sided ;  the  maidens  had  to  find  the  word  and  let  me 
read  the  answer.  But  it  was  a  bushel  of  fun. 

When  bedtime  came — it  came  when  I  made  the  sig- 
nal of  lying  down  with  closed  eyes — Youmie  and 
Noomie  made  the  bed.  Layer  after  layer  of  padded 
comforts  came  out  of  the  mysterious  wardrobe  and 
were  stacked  up  on  the  floor.  Then  followed  some- 
thing that  looked  like  a  quilt,  and  on  top  of  this  was 
an  enormous  padded  kimono  that  would  have  enclosed 
a  giant.  This  was  evidently  not  intended  to  be  worn, 


286          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

for  it  was  placed  on  top  of  everything.  There  were 
no  sheets  and  no  pillows,  but  Youmie  brought  in  some- 
thing that  looked  like  a  rolling-pin  wrapped  in  towels, 
and  this  was  placed  where  a  pillow  belongs.  Being 
already  arrayed  in  my  costume-de-nuit,  there  was  noth- 
ing to  do  except  crawl  in.  This  I  did,  and  they  tucked 
me  in  as  solicitously  as  a  mother  would  do.  Then 
they  bowed  most  profoundly — and  I  suppose  went 
downstairs  and  yelled  for  an  hour  over  all  the  funny 
things  that  the  honourable  foreigner  had  done. 

Next  morning  I  was  awakened  by  the  sliding  of 
doors  and  a  flood  of  light.  I  thought  the  front  of  the 
house  was  falling  out,  but  it  was  only  the  outside  shut- 
ters disappearing,  letting  the  bright  sunlight  stream 
through  the  opaque  paper  walls  of  the  inner  shell.  The 
performances  of  the  night  before  were  repeated  in  in- 
verse order;  the  foreigner  requested  his  bill;  and  the 
hour  of  parting  came.  With  elaborate  ceremony  on 
the  part  of  all  concerned,  my  shoes  were  replaced  at 
the  outer  door,  and  I  drove  away  with  all  the  little 
maids  on  their  knees  in  the  doorway,  knocking  their 
foreheads  on  the  floor. 

And  when  I  looked  at  the  little  heads  on  the  mat- 
ting as  I  left  the  Okamoto  for  the  last  time,  I  felt  a 
good  deal  like  a  man  feels  when  he  is  leaving  his  sis- 
ters for  a  long  absence.  Dear,  gentle,  fun-loving  little 
women — how  very  different  you  are  from  what  the 
Western  world  thinks  you  to  be !  Sayonara — since  it 
must  be  so! 


THE  YELLOW  MAN  ALSO  HAS  A  BURDEN 


XL 
AT  THE  TOMB  OF  THE  SHOGUNS 

A  3D  now  that  we  have  come  to  the  sorrowful  mo- 
ment when  we  must  take  leave  of  Japan,  let 
it  be  at  Nikko,  the  sublimest  of  all  the  spots  cov- 
ered by  our  Japanese  itinerary.    And  the  go-mile  ride 
from  Tokyo  is  a  delightful  experience,  especially  to 
those  who  do  not  cross  Japan. 

Sixty-five  miles  from  Tokyo,  something  happens  that 
is  not  on  the  programme.  The  train  makes  a  stop  at 
an  important  station  called  Utsunomiya,  and  here  is  a 
grammar  school  where  boys  and  girls  are  learning 
English,  among  other  useful  things.  The  Professor 
suggested  that  a  good  place  to  practise  it  would  be 
the  station,  while  the  Americans  were  halted.  And 
here  they  were,  filling  the  whole  platform,  with  bright 
lanterns  and  bright  faces,  yelling  like  rioters.  As  soon 
as  the  train  began  to  slow  down  the  conversationing 
began — and  such  English  was  never  heard,  even  at  a 
Weber  &  Fields  performance!  Every  boy  and  girl 
had  name  and  address  written  on  a  stack  of  cards,  and 
these  were  freely  distributed  with  requests  for  corre- 
spondence. And  every  one  that  caught  your  eye  asked 
for  your  name-card.  Doubtless  some  very  amusing 
correspondence  has  resulted  from  that  clandestine  ac- 

287 


288          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

quaintance.  One  of  the  letters  is  herewith  reproduced 
in  facsimile  in  order  to  show  what  really  good  work 
is  being  done  in  the  Japanese  public  schools. 

The  Clevelanders  reach  Nikko  in  sections  to  prevent 
overcrowding.  My  own  arrival  was  on  a  rainy  night 
and  the  'rickshaw  ride  up  the  long  street  to  the  hotel 
was  an  astonishing  spectacle.  The  whole  town  was 
lined  up  with  waving  lanterns,  cheering  us  and  wel- 
coming us  in  English  and  Japanese.  It  was  more  like 
a  triumphal  procession  than  a  globe-trot.  And  the 
night  spent  in  the  quaint  hotel  there  in  the  moun- 
tains, with  the  sound  of  rushing  water  far  below,  is 
not  an  experience  easily  forgotten. 

Now  it  must  suffice  to  say  that  the  temples  of  Nikko 
are  the  finest  in  Japan.  They  represent  high-water 
mark  in  wood-carving  and  in  gorgeous  decoration. 
There  are  a  number  of  them,  and  even  after  seeing  the 
temples  of  Kyoto  they  seemed  marvellously  beautiful. 
And  there  is  certainly  nothing  in  Japan  that  ap- 
proaches the  beauty  of  the  interior  decorations.  They 
are  indescribable. 

Even  when  seen  in  the  sombre  garb  of  winter,  with- 
out the  glory  of  the  cherry-tree  of  Japan,  and  long 
after  the  gorgeous  colours  of  the  maple  groves  has 
faded,  Nikko  is  a  dream  of  picturesque  beauty.  It  is 
a  place  of  lofty  cryptomerias,  of  picturesque  pines,  and 
of  that  wonderful  mist  that  you  sometimes  see  in 
Japanese  art.  I  know  not  if  great  epics  have  been 
composed  here  in  this  dreamy  place,  but  it  is  unques- 
tionably made  for  communion  with  the  gods.  The 
greatest  of  the  Shoguns — leyasu,  whom  many  think  to 


290          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

be  the  greatest  leader  Japan  ever  produced — chose 
the  hillside  opposite  Nikko  as  a  burial-place,  and  there 
he  sleeps  in  lonely  grandeur,  amid  surroundings  more 
stately  than  the  hand  of  man  could  have  made.  And 
hither  also,  in  due  time,  was  borne  his  famous  grand- 
son, lemitsu.  It  is,  therefore,  a  place  that  means 
much  to  the  Japanese,  aside  from  its  great  natural 
beauty. 

After  you  have  lingered  about  the  beautiful  temple 
gates,  you  are  escorted  up  the  steep  hill  through  mag- 
nificent gates,  to  the  resting-place  of  the  First  Toku- 
gawa  Shogun.  It  is  a  long  climb  up  the  two  hundred 
stone  steps  that  ascend  by  a  series  of  terraces,  and  it 
climbs  through  a  forest  that  is  nothing  short  of  sub- 
lime. I  made  the  ascent  on  one  of  the  dreariest  days 
imaginable,  with  the  wind  sighing  a  requiem  in  the 
tops  of  the  conifers  and  the  stream  at  the  foot  of  the 
hill  answering  back  to  remind  me  that  life  still  rushes 
madly  on.  At  the  top  you  come  again  to  the  workman- 
ship of  great  artisans,  and  pass  on  to  the  tomb  of  the 
founder  of  a  great  dynasty — one  that  survived  until 
1867.  "  Here  then,  alone,  on  this  wind-blown  height, 
among  the  sturdy  boulders  and  the  murmuring  pines, 
rests  the  man  who  is  said  to  have  been  the  greatest 
ruler  of  Japan."  And  no  less  picturesque  is  the  burial- 
place  of  his  grandson,  not  far  distant. 

And  as  the  remembrance  of  the  cryptomeria  avenue 
veiled  in  mist  comes  back  now,  it  makes  the  pain  of 
parting  with  Japan  seem  like  one  of  life's  calamities. 


MERIDIAN   180 


XLI 
HIGH  JINKS  ON  HIGH  SEAS 

SAILING  from  Yokohama,  you  go  serenely  along 
—that  is,  as  serenely  as  the  restless  Pacific  will 
allow — until  you  reach  a  certain  Saturday.  You 
go  to  bed  Saturday  night  as  usual,  or  perhaps  a  little 
earlier  than  you  go  at  home.  Nothing  unusual  occurs 
to  you  during  the  night,  but  when  you  wake  up  it  is 
Saturday  morning !  Two  Saturdays  in  one  week — and 
the  "  ghost "  who  walks  with  the  pay  envelope  every 
Saturday  is  far  across  the  sea ! 

Or,  sailing  from  Honolulu,  you  go  down  to  church 
service  on  Sunday  night,  as  you  do  not  do  at  home. 
Then  you  come  up  and  smoke  and  then  make  for  the 
sheets.  Sunday  night's  sleep  is  as  calm  as  ever,  but 
when  you  wake  it  is  Tuesday  morning!  Monday  is 
"  Monday  what  ain't."  And  it  is  a  lucky  day  for  you, 
sister,  if  Monday  happened  to  be  your  birthday.  You 
have  one  less  to  count. 

It  is  obvious  that  such  a  phenomenon  as  this  deserves 
to  be  appropriately  celebrated.  We  may  set  our  watches 
forward  or  backward  twenty-odd  minutes  a  day  with- 
out comment,  but  when  it  comes  to  setting  the  almanac 
— that  is  an  occasion  for  high  jinks.  And  we  had 
them,  on  both  cruises.  Since  they  were  essentially  the 

291 


292          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

same  on  both,  let  us  take  the  last ;  the  events  are  more 
vivid  in  remembrance. 

The  Chief  Officer  is  the  Master  of  Ceremonies,  and 
the  man  who  does  most  of  the  work.  About  a  week 
before,  he  selects  a  committee  to  circulate  among  the 
passengers  and  prepare  them  for  the  momentous  occa- 
sion. In  this  case,  the  committee  of  arrangement  is  a 
brilliant  galaxy,  to-wit :  The  chairman  is  a  well-known 
manufacturer  of  yeast  that  rises  mightily,  and  also  a 
man  prominent  in  political  circles — Mr.  Julius  Fleisch- 
mann,  of  Cincinnati.  With  him  is  most  appropriately 
associated  the  man  who  makes  the  flour  that  the  yeast 
makes  to  rise — Mr.  Charles  S.  Pillsbury,  of  Minne- 
apolis. Then  come  two  of  the  best  "  mixers  "  on  the 
boat — Mr.  Charles  Sheldon  and  Mr.  E.  D.  Brooks,  also 
of  Minnesota.  No.  5  is  the  German  lecturer — Dr.  L. 
Mecking,  of  Gottingen  University.  And  the  sixth  is 
a  great  author — meaning  me.  We  have  nothing  to  do 
except  hustle  around  and  get  people  to  do  it.  We  let 
George — meaning  Officer  Kruse — do  all  the  hard  work 
of  setting  the  stage  and  fishing  out  the  properties. 

First  comes  the  old-fashioned  potato-race,  which  is 
for  ladies  only.  Inasmuch  as  there  are  27  entries, 
this  is  run  in  relays.  Six  potatoes  of  the  common  Irish 
variety  are  placed  at  5-foot  intervals  from  the  starting 
line.  All  that  the  lady  has  to  do  is  to  pick  up  each 
with  a  sharp  stick,  rush  madly  to  the  pail,  deposit  it, 
and  run  for  another.  The  one  who  gets  all  the  po- 
tatoes out  of  sight  first  is  the  winner.  Then  the  win- 
ner of  each  relay  is  lined  up  and  the  final  heat  is  pulled 


HIGH  JINKS  ON  HIGH  SEAS  293 

off.  Washington,  D.C.,  gets  the  ribbon,  and  the  prize 
that  goes  with  it.  Meanwhile  the  audience  gets  all  the 
fun  that  is  coming  to  it. 

Next,  we  thread  the  needle.  There  are  forty  ap- 
plicants for  honours  here,  but  this  means  twenty  cou- 
ples. The  gentlemen  stand  at  the  starting  line  with 
the  thread  in  hand;  the  ladies  are  at  the  finish.  When 
the  signal  is  given,  the  gentlemen  rush  to  the  ladies, 
thread  the  needle,  and  both  run  for  the  starting-point. 
A  beautiful  New  York  girl  and  the  German  lecturer 
walk  off  serenely  with  the  honours. 

Now  come  2.2.  men  for  the  individual  tug-of-war. 
They  sit  down  on  the  deck  in  pairs,  facing  each  other, 
the  soles  of  their  feet  together,  and  grasp  a  short  stick. 
At  the  signal  they  pull  like  sixty,  and  the  winner  is 
he  who  gets  the  other  on  his  feet.  Then  the  winners 
must  pull  against  one  another  until  it  is  determined 
who  is  the  strong-armed  man  of  the  squad.  A  popular 
man  from  St.  Louis  wins,  and  the  audience  howls  its 
approval  of  the  show. 

The  megaphone  now  announces  that  the  three- 
legged  racers  will  line  up.  Eighteen  young  ladies  re- 
spond. They  are  arranged  in  pairs,  the  right  ankle  of 
one  lady  being  tied  to  the  left  ankle  of  her  running 
mate.  Violent  dissension  among  the  committeemen 
arose  beforehand,  each  insisting  that  he  was  logically 
the  official  member  to  tie  the  ankles,  but  the  chairman 
settled  it  by  decreeing  that  he  would  do  it  himself. 
The  three-leggers  race  across  the  arena  to  a  tin  pail, 
waltz  around  it,  and  race  back.  Minnesota  and  Illinois 
get  the  ribbon  for  exceeding  the  speed  limit. 


294          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

Now  comes  the  rooster-fight.  Eight  couples  are 
enlisted,  all  being  masculine  gender.  A  broomstick  is 
inserted  under  the  knees  of  each  man  and  the  hands  are 
clasped  about  the  knees  as  he  sits  on  the  floor,  and 
are  securely  bound.  A  large  circle  is  drawn  on  the 
floor,  and  the  problem  is  simply  that  of  getting  the 
other  fellow  out  of  the  circle  any  way  you  can.  This 
is  where  the  audience  has  the  time  of  its  life,  for  it  is 
not  easy  to  keep  your  balance  with  somebody  butting 
you  over.  And  when  you  fall  over  on  your  side  or 
back — well,  did  you  ever  turn  a  bug  on  its  back  and 
watch  it  try  to  get  up? 

The  next  is  the  egg  and  spoon  race  that  was  first 
executed  on  Noah's  Ark.  A  popular  Chicago  lady 
walks  off  with  the  eggs  and  the  prize. 

The  wheelbarrow  race  is  not  so  antique.  It  is  a  stag 
affair,  with  eight  pairs  participating.  One  half  of  the 
pair,  standing  on  his  feet,  holds  up  the  feet  of  the  other 
half,  standing  on  his  hands.  The  signal  is  given  and 
the  race  is  on.  Ohio  and  North  Dakota  get  over  the 
line  first. 

Seven  couples  are  now  lined  up  for  the  thread  and 
biscuit  contest.  A  small  cracker  is  tied  in  the  middle  of 
a  small  string  about  two  yards  long.  One  end  of  the 
string  is  inserted  between  the  lady's  teeth,  her  hands 
being  folded  behind  her  back,  and  the  other  end  of  the 
string  is  firmly  grasped  by  the  gentleman's  teeth.  The 
job  is  to  eat  up  the  string  and  touch  the  biscuit  with 
your  lips  before  your  partner  gets  there.  It  is  not 
required  of  the  audience  that  it  maintain  an  attitude  of 
sobriety  during  this  contest.  When  the  chewing  has 


TIIK  WINNERS  THREADING  THE  NEEDLE 


HAIR-DRESSING— A  SOLEMN  CEREMONY! 


HIGH  JINKS  ON  HIGH  SEAS  295 

subsided,  the  chairman  announces  that  Pennsylvania 
and  Ohio  are  the  swiftest  of  the  lip  manipulators. 

Everybody  now  shifts  to  the  other  side  of  the  boat, 
where  a  spar  has  been  suspended  just  far  enough  above 
the  deck  to  prevent  the  feet  of  a  long-legged  man  from 
touching  the  floor  as  he  sits  astride  it.  Now  it  looks 
easy  to  sit  on  a  spar,  but  maybe  you  never  tried  it. 
And  maybe  you  never  tried  it  with  another  fellow 
swatting  you  over  the  head  with  a  pillow.  Sixteen  gen- 
tlemen straddle  the  rail  in  turn,  with  the  winner  of 
the  previous  heat  sitting  a  few  feet  in  front  of  him. 
One  after  the  other  they  go  toppling  over,  and  the 
last  man  shows  the  smiling  face  of  an  Argentinian. 

Now  comes  the  unique  contest.  A  long  board, 
very  heavy  and  thick,  is  placed  on  a  couple  of  carpen- 
ter's horses.  To  each  of  nineteen  ladies  is  given  a  col- 
lection of  nine  large  and  practical  nails,  together  with 
a  hammer.  She  is  encouraged  in  the  belief  that  if  she 
drives  all  the  nails  up  to  the  head  before  anybody  else 
does,  she  will  be  acclaimed  to  the  world  as  the  champion 
nail-driver  of  the  Pacific.  Such  a  clatter  was  never 
heard  on  shipboard  as  the  ladies  went  at  those  nails; 
it  was  more  like  the  racket  of  a  bunch  of  drill-cutters 
or  of  a  boiler- factory,  for  every  contestant  was  scream- 
ing as  she  worked  the  hammer,  and  the  audience  was 
holding  its  sides  while  it  roared.  When  the  shouting 
and  the  tumult  died,  it  was  discovered  that  California 
had  demonstrated  her  supremacy  as  a  carpenter. 

Then  came  the  star-performance,  the  dressing  of  the 
ladies'  hair  by  gentlemen.  Take  the  hair  down,  comb 
it  out,  and  replace  it  in  an  artistic  manner — that's  the 


296          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

idea,  but  it  must  all  be  done  within  ten  minutes.  Three 
ladies  assumed  the  delicate  task  of  deciding  which  re- 
sult was  most  artistic — and  a  young  married  couple 
from  Nebraska  did  the  winning. 

There  was  a  great  dinner  that  night,  namely. 


ON  BOARD  S.  S.  "CLEVELAND' 
Antipodes  Day,  January  20,  1912 


DINNER 


Sea-gull  Soup,  Girdlers  Style 

Oriental  and  Occidental  Broth  with  Sea-Stars 

Slices  of  Whale  a  la  Greenwich 

Filet  of  Sea-cow  a  1'Amphitrite 

Hawaii  Cranes  a  la  Neptune 

Fujiyama  Snow 

Pacific  Swallows  in  Noah's  Ark 

Nereid  Compot  Sour  sea-grass 

Sea-weed  with  codliver-oil 

Antipodes  Cream 

Niceties  of  Undine's  Garden 

Triton's  Nectar 


Ship's  Time  on  January  21,  6.  a.  m. 
will  be  advanced  20  Min. 


And  it  was  followed  by  a  lawn  fete  on  the  promenade 
deck,  with  lanterns  and  flags  and  other  refreshments. 


HONOLULU 


XLII 
OUR  MID-PACIFIC  PARADISE 

FAR  out  in  the  middle  of  Balboa's  restless  ocean, 
2,100  miles  from  the  Golden  Gate  and  3,400 
miles  east  of  Yokohama,  is  the  archipelago  that 
Mark  Twain  considered  "  the  loveliest  fleet  of  islands 
that  lies  anchored  in  any  ocean."    All  alone  in  that  vast 
expanse  of  trackless  water,  they  have  for  more  than 
a  century  been  the  cross-roads  house  of  the  weather- 
beaten  sails  and  smoking  funnels  of  every  nation  whose 
men  go  down  to  the  sea  in  ships. 

And  now,  when  the  outposts  of  American  empire 
have  been  moved  7,000  miles  to  the  westward,  this 
peaceful  Hawaiian  shore  is  strategically  the  most  im- 
portant spot  in  the  western  seas.  And  this  is  no  secret 
at  Washington.  On  the  barren  volcanic  heights  of 
Diamond  Head,  which  sentinels  the  present  harbour 
of  Honolulu,  is  entrenched  the  most  powerful  mortar 
battery  under  our  flag.  It  can  say  no  to  any  hostile 
fleet  that  may  wish  to  refill  its  coal-bunkers  prepara- 
tory to  an  attack  on  the  Pacific  Coast — and  did  you 
ever  stop  to  reflect  that  such  a  fleet  must  also  have 
coal  enough  to  get  back  home  in  the  event  that  the 
attack  should  fail?  Besides,  landlocked  within  the 
5,000  acres  of  deep  water  in  the  new  Pearl  Harbour 
nearby,  plenty  of  American  dreadnoughts  can  lie  at 

297 


298          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

peaceful  anchorage  until  there  comes  the  fateful  mo- 
ment to  rush  forth  and  strike. 

However,  it  is  Honolulu  as  a  mid-Pacific  paradise 
and  not  as  an  impregnable  Gibraltar  that  most  con- 
cerns the  sea-going  traveller.  To  the  globe-trotter 
who  starts  from  San  Francisco,  Honolulu  is  the  first 
of  many  strange  ports,  for  it  is  here  that  the  East 
and  the  West  have  come  together.  It  is  thoroughly 
American  in  its  spirit  and  its  institutions ;  yet  it  is  also 
Japanese,  Chinese,  Portuguese,  and  Hawaiian  in  its 
population.  The  modest  little  mother  from  Kobe,  with 
a  fat,  red-cheeked  baby  bandaged  to  her  back,  trudges 
along  behind  a  slender  little  lady  in  pajamas  who  was 
born  on  a  sampan  in  the  Canton  River.  At  yonder 
street  corner,  waiting  for  the  trolley-car,  is  a  group 
of  Hawaiian  and  half-Hawaiian  girls  on  their  home- 
ward way  from  an  American  college,  and  they  look  so 
much  like  Creoles  that  one  may  easily  imagine  himself 
in  New  Orleans.  And  if  you  stand  by  the  gateway 
of  a  primary  school  and  watch  the  youngsters  as  they 
scamper  out,  you  may  easily  pick  out  the  faces  of 
Coreans,  Filipinos,  Spaniards,  Porto  Ricans,  Scandi- 
navians, Germans,  and  other  peoples  who  have  been 
cast  up  by  the  tide  of  circumstance  and  are  already 
coming  into  the  heritage  of  American  citizenship. 
You  may  see  as  many  as  sixteen  distinct  nationalities 
in  one  American  school. 

We  know  that  the  Garden  of  Eden  was  not  situated 
at  "  the  Cross-Roads  of  the  Pacific,"  but  that  would 
not  have  been  a  bad  site.  Any  one  who  strolls  through 
Kapiolani  Park  or  drives  over  Mr.  Damon's  beautiful 


OUR  MID-PACIFIC  PARADISE  299 

estate  of  Moanalua  will  not  find  it  difficult  to  picture 
the  seductiveness  of  man's  first  earthly  paradise.  More 
tropical  in  foliage  and  more  continuously  beautiful 
in  flower  than  Madeira,  Honolulu  knows  nothing  of 
the  discomforts  of  tropical  summers  nor  has  it  ever  a 
cold  day.  You  may  roll  in  the  surf  of  Waikiki  Beach 
on  the  Fourth  of  July  without  blistering,  or  on  Christ- 
mas Day  without  shivering.  Its  temperature  stands 
in  the  vicinity  of  70°  the  year  round,  and  the  trade- 
winds  bring  the  breezes  and  enthusiasm  of  spring 
throughout  all  the  changing  seasons  of  the  home- 
land. 

And  so  it  matters  little  whether  you  sail  into  the 
harbour  of  this  seductive  land  in  December  or  in  May. 
The  sun  will  be  shining  and  the  palms  waving  in  the 
breeze;  the  bluejackets  who  line  the  rail  of  some  idle 
member  of  the  Pacific  Squadron  will  be  in  spotless 
white;  the  Americans  who  meet  you  at  the  dock  will 
be  wearing  straw  hats  instead  of  sun-helmets;  and 
a  Kanaka  girl  will  be  waiting  to  hang  a  wreath  of  real 
flowers  about  your  neck,  in  keeping  with  the  fine 
traditions  of  this  hospitable  race. 

You  drive  along  beautiful  avenues  that  are  lined 
with  royal  palms  festooned  with  vines,  and  you  catch 
enchanting  visions  of  villas  and  bungalows  that  are 
half-screened  in  purple  wistaria  or  scarlet  and  magenta 
bougainvillea.  The  spacious  yard  may  be  enclosed  with 
a  hedge  of  ever-blooming  hibiscus,  or  there  may  be  a 
stone  wall  overhung  with  night-blooming  cereus.  Go 
from  Moanalua  to  Diamond  Head,  climb  up  to  the 
Punchbowl  and  Tantalus  and  Pali;  then  return  for  a 


300          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

dip  in  the  surf  of  Waikiki,  where  the  Kanakas  ride 
the  waves  erect  upon  surf-boards,  or  where  the  whiter 
races  play  in  the  outrigger  canoes — and  the  feeling 
will  creep  over  you  that  this  is  the  ne  plus  ultra  of  the 
world's  watering-places. 

One  of  the  most  pleasing  facts  about  Honolulu  is 
the  heartiness  of  its  welcome.  It  is  of  quite  a  different 
brand  from  that  which  was  served  at  Manila.  In  Hono- 
lulu they  do  not  look  upon  the  traveller  as  wreckage 
washed  up  by  the  sea,  nor  as  the  lawful  prey  of  land- 
sharks  disguised  as  merchants  and  hotel-keepers  and 
fellow-citizens. 

The  difference  between  the  welcome  of  the  two 
American  ports  is  due  to  the  difference  between  the 
men  who  have  been  entrusted  with  the  responsibility 
of  delivering  it.  The  machinery  is  similar,  but  oh, 
the  difference  in  the  men! 

A  week  out  from  Yokohama,  the  big  Cleveland  was 
shoving  steadily  ahead  through  a  choppy  sea  that  would 
have  made  an  ordinary  steamer  hop  about  like  an  "  Old 
Hickory  "  farm-wagon  bumping  over  a  road  of  loose 
cobblestones.  From  some  cavern  of  the  winds  off  the 
port  side  came  an  infant  gale,  testing  its  strength 
against  the  steel  plates  and  making  the  promenade  deck 
careen  at  times  to  such  an  extent  that  pedestrians  had 
all  the  sensation  of  running  down-hill.  The  Lady 
Chaser  happened  to  be  promenading  with  the  Porch 
Lounger.  At  one  of  the  turns  they  both  came  down 
the  hill  like  Jack  and  Jill  and  brought  up  sharply 
against  the  rail  where  loafed  the  man  with  the  Mis- 
souri Disposition. 


OUR  MID-PACIFIC  PARADISE  301 

"  What  a  perfectly  dreadful  roll !  "  exclaimed  the 
Lounger,  gasping  for  breath. 

"  There  seems  to  be  a  list  to  starboard,"  said  the 
Lady  Chaser,  who  had  been  impressed  with  that  phrase 
in  one  of  the  magazines. 

"  I  hope  you  do  not  mean  that  my  weight  had  any- 
thing to  do  with  it !  " 

"  Oh,  certainly  not.  It  may  be  due  to  that  coal  we 
took  on  at  Nagasaki." 

"  Wrong  again,"  said  the  Missourian. 

"  Then  what  ?  "  asked  the  Chaser. 

"  The  list  is  due  to  the  weight  of  the  come-on  litera- 
ture piled  up  in  the  Chief  Steward's  store-room." 

"Where'dhegetit?" 

"  Hawaiian  Promotion  Committee." 

"  What  is  that — an  examining  board  ?  " 

"  Not  exactly,"  explained  the  loafer.  "  It  is  a  crowd 
of  Honolulu  gentlemen  selected  because  they  have 
strong  lungs.  It  is  their  job  to  yell  about  the  glories 
of  Hawaii,  to  yell  so  loudly  that  everybody  afloat  on 
the  Pacific  shall  hear  and  then  to  not  stop  yelling." 

"  I  think  I  have  heard  of  it  before,"  said  the  Chaser. 

"  Both  before  and  behind,"  continued  the  Mis- 
sourian. "  If  you  haven't,  you  better  see  an  ear-doctor. 
They  began  the  joyful  chorus  when  we  were  away  back 
yonder  at  Singapore,  and  the  only  intermissions  since 
have  been  when  they  had  to  stop  to  refill  their  lungs. 
Didn't  you  hear  the  announcements  at  the  close  of  the 
ball  last  night  ?  " 

"No.     What  were  they?" 

"  Wireless  from  the  H.P.C. — Welcome  to  Hono- 


302          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

lulu !  Another  wireless  from  '  Promotion  ' — Elks  of 
Honolulu  preparing  a  great  feast  for  the  antlered  herd 
on  the  Cleveland.  Another  wireless — Shriners  on  the 
Cleveland  requested  to  wire  number  will  accept  hos- 
pitality of  Honolulu  shrine.  Another — How  many 
tickets  at  opera-house  shall  we  reserve  for  Cleveland 
party  ?  All  this  three  days  out  at  sea,  mind  you !  " 

But  let  us  drop  the  rest  of  the  conversation  into  the 
Pacific  Ocean  and  skip  along  to  Honolulu.  As  soon  as 
the  big  world-cruiser  had  been  sighted  off  Diamond 
Head,  the  members  of  the  H.P.C.  pulled  one  another 
out  of  bed  and  climbed  into  the  fastest  steam-launch 
in  the  harbour.  Without  waiting  for  the  Health  Officer 
to  assure  them  that  the  Cleveland  was  not  freighted 
with  Asiatic  cholera  and  beri-beri,  a  man  named  Wood 
and  another  named  Jordan  climbed  over  the  ship's 
side  like  South  Sea  buccaneers  and  began  to  pin  badges 
and  buttons  on  every  passenger  caught  standing  still, 
at  the  same  time  stuffing  his  pockets  with  literature 
about  the  wonders  of  "  the  Paradise  of  the  Pacific." 
Then  came  another  H.P.C.  launch  loaded  with  Ha- 
waiian girls,  each  dusky  beauty  burdened  with  wreaths 
of  flowers.  In  an  incredibly  short  time  these  (the 
wreaths)  were  hanging  about  the  necks  of  the  passen- 
gers. Then  the  Royal  Hawaiian  Band  broke  loose. 
And  there  was  a  lot  more  to  it. 

Among  other  divertisements,  the  H.P.C.  engineered 
a  Hawaiian  musical  at  the  opera-house,  with  reserved 
seats  down  front  for  gentlemen  travelling  alone.  A 
glee  club  of  young  Hawaiian  men  sang  native  songs 
for  an  hour,  and  picked  sundry  tuneful  selections  from 


japP^ 
^P^"  .  ••--• 


jBJj^p*W" 


ONOLrUL; 


OUR  MID-PACIFIC  PARADISE  303 

the  strings  of  guitars  and  infant  guitars.  Then  came 
the  real  show — the  hula  dance. 

To  have  visited  Honolulu  and  come  away  without 
seeing  the  dance  that  has  made  the  islands  famous — 
that  would  have  been  like  going  to  Cairo  and  not  see- 
ing the  Pyramids.  So  reasoned  the  passengers;  so 
also  reasoned  the  H.P.C.  But  when  the  Committee  of 
Joyful  Yells  let  it  be  known  in  Honolulu  that  a  hula 
was  on  the  bill-of-fare,  another  crowd  of  strong- 
lungers  let  loose.  They  also  are  honourable  men,  but 
they  were  never  schooled  in  the  psychology  of  globe- 
trotting. It  was  their  idea  that  the  hula  was  misrep- 
resentative  of  the  spirit  of  Hawaii  and  the  Clevelanders 
ought  not  to  see  it.  But  the  H.P.C.  got  out  the  map 
and  said  that  any  bunch  of  globe-trotters  that  had 
passed  through  the  land  of  the  hoochie-koochie,  of  the 
nautch,  and  of  the  geisha  would  not  be  endangered  by  a 
simple  little  thing  like  the  hula.  And  there  was  also 
the  scholarly  treatise  of  Dr.  Emerson,  bearing  the  im- 
print of  the  United  States  Government,  to  prove  that 
the  hula  is  a  religious  performance.  The  spinal  column 
of  the  H.P.C.  became  ankylosed  and  the  dance  re- 
mained on  the  programme. 

And  was  it  so  terribly  wicked?  The  only  criticism 
that  I  heard  was  that  it  was  not  wicked  enough.  And  it 
surely  was  picturesque.  A  troop  of  about  a  dozen  girls 
could  be  dimly  seen  on  the  darkened  stage  as  the  cur- 
tain went  up,  swaying  and  chanting  to  the  beat  of  a 
couple  of  tom-toms.  Little  by  little  the  light  was 
turned  on,  as  the  gentlemen  in  front  made  signs  of 
impatience,  and  then  it  could  be  seen  that  the  girls 


304          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

were  young,  dusky,  good-looking,  and  full  of  the  Old 
Harry. 

The  dance  was  directed  by  Madame  Puwahi,  who 
had  some  connection  with  court  life  in  the  old 
Hawaiian  days.  Years  have  left  their  imprint  upon 
her  handsome  and  intelligent  features,  but  the  life  is 
still  in  her  blood,  and  the  light  is  in  her  eyes.  A  so- 
ciety reporter  would  say  that  the  dancers  were  "  simply 
and  attractively  gowned."  They  wore  short  green  skirts 
covered  over  with  green  fibre,  and  their  brilliant-red 
waists  were  festooned  with  wreaths  of  yellow  flowers. 
They  also  wore  their  own  hair.  Their  feet  and  ankles 
were  bare — at  least,  that  is  the  substance  of  an  unpub- 
lished report  made  by  the  passengers  in  the  front  seats. 

Now,  the  hula  differs  from  the  nautch,  the  geisha, 
and  all  other  dances  of  the  East  in  this  important  par- 
ticular— that  the  Hawaiian  girl  has  her  heart  in  her 
work.  There  is  a  good  deal  of  the  responsiveness  of 
the  Southern  darkey  in  her  soul,  and  when  the  music 
starts  she  becomes  thoroughly  alive.  There  is  no  list- 
lessness  and  artificiality  about  her.  The  dance  is  more 
like  that  of  the  Egyptian  than  anything  else;  but  the 
Cairo  dance  is  a  solo,  whereas  this  is  a  chorus.  And 
instead  of  standing  still  and  dancing  without  moving 
the  feet,  the  hula  girls  circle  about  the  stage  and  sway 
to  the  rhythm  of  the  enchanting  music. 

Not  since  the  early  days  of  the  explorers,  perhaps, 
has  there  been  a  more  dramatic  entree  into  Honolulu 
than  that  of  the  Cleveland  on  the  Eastward  Cruise.  It 
was  in  the  early  morning,  and  five  first-class  cruisers 
of  the  Pacific  Squadron  were  lying  side  by  side  near 


OUR  MID-PACIFIC  PARADISE  305 

the  pier.  The  world-cruiser  swept  majestically  past 
them,  and  we  had  the  inspiring  vision  of  all  those 
crews  of  bluejackets  (white- jackets  they  really  were) 
lined  against  the  rails.  There  was  just  room  enough 
for  the  Cleveland  to  swing  in  alongside  the  U.S.S. 
Colorado,  but  a  swiftly  rushing  tide  must  first  be  crossed. 
The  pilot  (a  veteran  of  Honolulu  Harbour)  was  di- 
recting the  ship,  and  it  was  making  its  final  swing  when 
one  of  those  sudden  tragedies  of  the  sea  took  place.  Just 
at  the  most  critical  moment,  the  pilot  threw  his  hands  up 
to  his  face,  called  incoherently  to  the  Captain,  and  sank 
unconscious  on  the  bridge.  It  was  a  moment  that  called 
for  splendid  seamanship  to  avert  a  serious  calamity, 
for  the  Cleveland  was  bearing  down  upon  the  cruiser's 
stern.  Leaving  the  dying  pilot  to  the  care  of  others, 
Captain  Dempwolf  instantly  resumed  command  and 
backed  his  ship,  barely  scraping  one  of  the  cruiser's 
guns  that  happened  to  be  sticking  out  of  its  port.  Then 
he  again  started  his  engines  and  docked  the  big  ship  as 
easily  as  if  he  had  been  doing  it  every  day  for  a  year. 
And  our  departure  on  the  next  afternoon,  as  the  sun 
was  sinking  low,  could  scarcely  have  been  more  dra- 
matic had  it  been  especially  staged.  All  Honolulu 
was  at  the  pier,  waving  its  cheerful  "  Aloha  Oe,"  and 
the  Hawaiian  Band  gave  us  its  sweetest  music  as  we 
slowly  slid  back  from  the  pier.  Then,  as  we  started 
to  pass  the  Colorado,  with  flags  dipping  on  both  sides, 
the  Cleveland  band  struck  up  "  The  Star  Spangled 
Banner."  It  was  just  finishing  the  National  Hymn  as 
we  passed  the  U.S.S.  West  Virginia,  and  the  flagship's 
band  responded  with  "  Should  Auld  Acquaintance  Be 


306          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

Forgot  ?  "  In  a  few  minutes  we  were  steaming  out- 
ward at  full  speed,  with  the  sailors  of  every  cruiser 
waving  good-bye,  and  with  the  West  Virginia's  band 
now  playing  "  There's  No  Place  Like  Home !  "  Then 
a  lone  bugler  from  the  army  post,  standing  on  a  point 
by  the  water's  edge,  blew  the  beautiful  call  of  the  dying 
day — "  Retreat."  Can  you  beat  it? 

I  should  despair  of  attempting,  in  anything  short  of 
a  book,  to  give  a  picture  of  this  beautiful  isle  in  the 
summer  seas.  It  has  called  forth  the  superlative  of 
praise  from  many  pens,  and  two  of  them  must  serve 
the  purpose  of  all  that  is  not  here  written.  The  first 
is  Honolulu  as  seen  through  a  woman's  eyes : 

"  It  is  as  if  all  the  artists  in  all  the  world  had  spilled  their 
colours  over  one  spot,  and  nature  had  sorted  them  out  at  her  own 
sweet  will.  I  kept  wondering  if  I  had  died  and  gone  to  heaven. 
Marvellous  palms  and  tropical  plants,  all  hanging  in  a  softly 
dreaming  silence  that  went  to  my  head  like  wine." 

But  the  most  beautiful  tribute  that  ever  has  been  or 
perhaps  ever  will  be  written  came  from  Mark  Twain : 

"  No  alien  land  in  all  the  world  has  any  deep,  strong  charm  for 
me  but  that  one;  no  other  land  could  so  longingly  and  beseech- 
ingly haunt  me  sleeping  and  waking,  through  more  than  half  a 
lifetime,  as  that  one  has  done.  Other  things  leave  me,  but  it 
abides ;  other  things  change,  but  it  remains  the  same.  For  me  its 
balmy  airs  are  always  blowing,  its  summer  seas  flashing  in  the 
sun;  the  pulsing  of  its  surf-beat  is  in  my  ear;  I  can  see  its 
garlanded  crags,  its  leaping  cascades,  its  plumy  palms  drowsing 
by  the  shore;  its  remote  summits  floating  like  islands  above  the 
cloud-rack.  I  can  feel  the  spirit  of  its  woodland  solitudes ;  I  can 
hear  the  plash  of  its  brooks ;  in  my  nostrils  still  lives  the  breath 
of  flowers  that  perished  twenty  years  ago." 


XLIII 
"IF  I  HAD  ONLY  KNOWN!" 

THE  log-book  of  the  Cleveland  records  many, 
many  things,  but  it  has  no  tabulation  to  show 
the  number  of  times  that  these  words  were 
uttered  on  a  world-cruise — uttered  with  infinite  and 
hopeless  regret.  They  will  continue  to  fall  from  the 
lips  of  those  who  follow  us  around  the  great  circle, 
continue  in  spite  of  all  the  excellent  advice  that  is 
given  by  those  who  have  sailed  on  all  the  seas.  Still, 
it  may  be  worth  while — now  while  the  Eastward  and 
the  Westward  cruisers  are  nearing  the  homeland, 
where  they  may  refill  their  pocketbooks — to  emphasize 
one  or  two  of  the  things  that  have  been  often  said 
before. 

The  most  complete  and  satisfactory  equipment  for  a 
world-cruise  is  not  ordinarily  mentioned  in  the  guide- 
books. You  may  have  your  trunks  and  suitcases  packed 
with  every  sort  of  clothing  that  you  will  need  from 
Darjeeling  to  Buitenzorg;  you  may  have  plenty  of 
money  and  have  it  in  the  most  convenient  form;  you 
may  have  field-glasses  and  marine-glasses  and  smoked 
glasses  and  kodaks  and  guide-books;  but  if  you  do  not 
start  out  with  the  right  state  of  mind,  you  will  be  a 
great  worry  to  yourself  and  others  all  the  way  around. 

Ship-life  is  not  hotel-life,  exactly.  Why  not  recog- 
307 


308          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

nize  that  fact  in  advance  and  do  a  little  grinning  in- 
stead of  scowling  when  things  get  topsy-turvey  ?  No- 
body's cabin  exactly  suits  him,  even  if  he  has  the  $7,000 
suite.  All  of  us  cannot  have  our  steamer-chairs  in 
the  choicest  place;  every  chair  in  the  dining-room  is  to 
be  occupied  by  some  passenger,  and  it  is  a  game  of 
chance  when  you  go  down  to  get  your  number.  The 
chances  are,  after  all,  that  the  place  you  get  on  deck 
or  at  the  table  will  turn  out  to  be  a  lot  better  than  the 
one  you  wanted.  So  make  up  your  mind  at  the  outset 
not  to  be  ruffled  much,  no  matter  what  happens,  and 
you  will  be  amazed  at  the  good  time  that  you  will 
have.  After  you  get  away  from  the  Cleveland  and 
think  it  all  over — particularly  after  you  make  a  long 
cruise  on  some  other  ship — you  will  reach  the  conclu- 
sion that  the  men  who  were  running  it,  from  officers 
to  stewards,  worked  almighty  hard  and  long  to  make 
things  come  out  just  about  right.  In  my  own  personal 
experience,  I  have  never  seen  a  ship's  crew  worked 
harder  than  the  Cleveland's  four  hundred,  except  on  a 
freight-boat. 

It  is  not  for  me  to  say  what  clothes  you  should  take 
on  a  world-cruise.  No  matter  what  you  take  or  leave, 
you  will  find  yourself  saying,  over  and  over,  "  If  I  had 
only  known !  "  Now,  everybody  knows  what  he  or 
she  wears  in  the  hottest  month  of  summer,  and  all  the 
mishaps  that  befall  summer  clothes  when  travelling 
by  boat  and  train.  If  you  will  remember  that  you  have 
genuine  summer  all  the  way  from  Hong  Kong  to 
Cairo,  you  need  not  go  far  wrong  in  your  calculations. 
You  know  also  that  it  often  becomes  very  cold  at  sea, 


«IF  I  HAD  ONLY  KNOWN!"  309 

and  that  no  sensible  person  ever  sets  sail  without  some 
preparation  for  winter  weather.  Figure  it  all  out  for 
yourself;  plan  for  comfort  and  forget  about  cutting 
a  dash  on  the  promenade  deck,  for  that  ambition  will 
probably  leave  you  after  you  get  acquainted.  Besides, 
do  not  get  it  into  your  head  for  a  minute  that  the 
splash  you  make  the  first  week  out  will  help  you  far- 
ther on.  Everybody  who  has  travelled  knows  that  the 
folks  who  trot  to  and  fro  in  the  limelight  the  first  ten 
days  are  not  the  people  who  count. 

The  greatest  mistake  that  is  made  on  the  world- 
cruise,  so  far  as  clothing  is  concerned,  arises  from 
indifference  to  the  practical  subject  of  laundry.  The 
operation  of  a  steam  laundry  at  sea  is  expensive  and 
also  productive  of  embarrassment  because  of  necessary 
delay  in  deliveries.  And  if  your  experience  with  laun- 
dry work  ashore  in  foreign  ports  should  tally  with 
mine,  a  very  little  of  it  will  be  more  than  enough.  The 
laundry  and  the  hot  weather — if  you  will  keep  these 
two  headlines  pasted  on  your  mirror  throughout  the 
last  month  before  you  sail,  you  will  make  fewer  mis- 
takes in  packing  your  trunk. 

Be  sure  to  take  a  camera  with  you.  Yes,  it  is  lots 
of  trouble  and  some  expense,  but  it  is  a  world  of  satis- 
faction afterward  to  have  photographs  of  the  things 
that  you  really  saw.  The  pictures  that  you  buy,  whether 
made  by  a  professional  ashore  or  by  the  ship  pho- 
tographer, can  never  take  the  place  of  your  own  col- 
lection. Now  bear  this  in  mind:  you  will  probably 
never  circle  the  globe  but  once,  and  you  ought  to  get  the 
very  best  pictures  that  you  can  make.  That  means 


310          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

that  you  have  a  camera  with  a  good  lens,  one  that  will 
cut  sharp,  so  that  you  may  have  enlargements  made 
at  your  pleasure.  Small  films  are  all  right,  but  very  few 
people  get  abiding  satisfaction  out  of  a  large  collection 
of  small  prints.  I  have  found  this  true  even  of  the 
largest  kodak  (4^4  by  6^2  inches)  and  most  regret- 
fully true  of  the  smaller  prints  in  my  collection. 

It  is  not  a  matter  of  transcendental  importance  what 
particular  camera  or  whose  lens  you  take  along,  pro- 
vided both  be  good  and  provided,  also,  that  you  fully 
understand  how  to  make  good  pictures  with  the  appa- 
ratus. Most  Americans  go  around  with  the  $A  Kodak, 
with  the  special  lens;  it  has  the  advantage  of  being 
small  and  dainty  and  it  does  excellent  work.  But  it 
will  surprise  you  to  find  the  number  of  people  equipped 
with  it  who  do  not  understand  how  to  operate  it. 

One  word  should  be  said  about  the  Graflex,  for  there 
are  always  half  a  dozen  passengers  who  want  fine  pic- 
tures and  are  willing  to  pay  liberally  for  the  camera. 
My  own  experience  with  this  remarkable  camera  was 
most  disappointing  on  the  Eastward  Cruise,  and  that 
experience  tallied  with  the  experience  of  nearly  every 
other  user  of  it.  It  was  probably  due  to  the  fact  that 
we  did  not  know  enough  about  its  operation,  but  it  is 
certainly  a  mistake  to  start  out  on  a  world-cruise  with 
this  outfit  until  you  have  mastered  it.  Get  it  weeks  in 
advance,  therefore,  and  be  sure  that  you  can  do  good 
work  with  it  at  home.  The  keenest  photographic  re- 
grets that  I  have  are  due  to  my  failure  to  act  upon  the 
advice  that  I  now  pass  along. 

I  am  not  a  professional,  but  I  have  made  pictures 


"IF  I  HAD  ONLY  KNOWN!"  311 

for  years  under  many  of  the  most  unfavourable  con- 
ditions that  can  confront  the  globe-trotter.  On  the 
world-cruise  I  used  four  or  five  different  machines  of 
different  sizes,  and  I  have  the  results  before  me.  Every 
man  to  his  own  liking,  but  I  have  discarded  every  ap- 
paratus except  the  old  4 A  Kodak  that  I  used  in  Africa 
several  years  ago.  It  has  a  Zeiss-Tessar  lens,  of  the 
F.6-3  variety,  that  has  rust  and  iridescent  streaks  on 
it — but  most  of  the  best  pictures  that  I  brought  back 
were  made  with  it.  And,  moreover,  the  film  is  large 
enough  to  show  something,  even  when  you  take  a 
crowd  of  pilgrims  at  the  bathing  ghats.  I  have  served 
my  term  of  years  monkeying  with  cameras;  the  other 
fellow  may  do  all  that  he  wants  in  that  direction.  The 
next  time  you  see  me,  I  shall  be  making  pictures  with  a 
4A  Kodak — and  I  shall  be  making  real  pictures,  too. 
Those  that  I  brought  back  from  the  world-cruise  may 
be  full  of  imperfections,  but  I  have  not  yet  seen  any 
collection  that  I  could  be  persuaded  to  exchange  with. 

Unless  you  are  a  professional,  here  is  a  caution  that 
will  be  worth  many  dollars  to  you :  Forget  everything 
that  you  have  ever  read  about  the  intensity  of  tropical 
light;  go  ahead  and  make  pictures  with  the  same  ex- 
posure that  you  use  at  home  in  the  summer-time,  and 
have  your  films  developed  as  you  go  along.  Then,  but 
not  till  then,  you  may  shorten  your  exposure.  Most  of 
the  failures  on  the  world-cruise  are  due  to  under- 
exposure or  lack  of  skill  in  developing. 

There  will  be  opportunities  for  having  your  films 
developed  aboard  and  on  shore.  A  large  percentage 
of  them  are  spoiled  by  the  action  of  the  heat,  for  both 


312          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

ice  and  water  are  precious  on  a  ship.  If  you  want  to 
save  every  negative  that  you  make,  I  can  easily  tell  you 
the  how.  Do  your  own  developing  on  the  ship  at  night, 
using  a  little  ice  in  the  developer  and  a  hardening  solu- 
tion in  the  hypo.  You  can  then  wash  the  film  in  any 
sort  of  water  without  losing  it.  I  followed  the  in- 
struction of  the  Eastman  Kodak  Co.  in  this  respect, 
and  never  had  a  failure,  even  in  the  hottest  tempera- 
tures. The  following  is  a  quotation  from  the  letter 
that  saved  most  of  my  best  films : 

"  An  8-ounce  fixing  bath  would  be  made  up  as  follows :  Water, 
6  ounces ;  hypo,  2.  ounces.  When  above  is  thoroughly  dissolved, 
add  the  following  solution,  after  completely  dissolving  the 
chemicals  contained  in  same:  Water,  2  ounces;  chrome  alum 
(powdered),  60  grains;  potassium  metabisulphite  (powdered), 
60  grains. 

"Fix  negatives  completely  in  this  fixing  solution  and  then 
allow  them  to  remain  15  or  20  minutes  longer,  being  sure  that 
they  are  completely  covered  with  the  solution.  This  will  harden 
them  so  that  almost  any  temperature  of  water  may  be  employed 
in  washing  without  danger  of  softening  the  emulsion. 

"  Use  a  fresh  fixing  bath  for  each  batch  of  work  and  do  not 
attempt  to  fix  too  many  rolls  in  one  batch.  Fresh  fixing  bath  is 
cheaper  than  film." 

There  are  stacks  of  other  things  that  I  should  like 
to  get  out  of  my  system,  but  I  must  run  up  on  deck  and 
look  for  the  lights  of  the  homeland ! 


THE  VOYAGE  OF  YOUR  DREAMS 


XLIV 
GOLDEN  GATE  AND  SANDY  HOOK 

YES,  Uncle  Dan,  it  was  great  sport  to  sit  out 
there  on  C-Deck  and  figure  out  how  many  por- 
poises we  had  seen  turning  somersaults  in  the 
Pacific — but  the  Sandy  Hook  Lightship  and  the  re- 
volving light  there  at  Navesink  Highlands  looked 
mighty  good  on  the  noth  day.  And  however  goodly 
may  be  the  sight  of  Moghul  palaces  and  Japanese  tem- 
ples, the  landmarks  of  'Frisco  Bay  can  be  counted 
upon  to  awaken  about  as  much  enthusiasm  as  any- 
thing else  in  the  world — at  least  to  the  American  globe- 
trotter. 

It's  all  over  now — all  but  the  lingering  memory.  We 
have  exchanged  addresses  and  real  names  with  the 
passengers  we  like;  we  have  eaten  the  Farewell  Din- 
ner to  the  tune  of  "  There,  Little  Girl,  Don't  Cry  " ; 
we  have  danced  the  Farewell  Dance  on  the  promenade 
deck,  with  the  lights  turned  low  and  the  orchestra 
wailing  "  Good-Night,  Ladies  " ;  and  all  these  emo- 
tional exercises  make  us  children  of  the  sorrowful 
countenance.  But  let  us  cheer  up,  for  the  worst  is  yet 
to  come — tipping  the  stewards  and  getting  through  the 
Custom-House ! 

On  the  Eastward  Cruise,  all  of  the  agony  lands  on  us 
in  a  heap.  We  make  the  grand  finish  all  in  a  bunch, 

313 


314          TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 

with  the  tugs  of  the  Golden  Gate  screaming,  the  flags 
flying,  and  San  Francisco  rushing  madly  to  the  pier  to 
shake  hands  and  tell  us  what  a  great  city  we  have  at 
last  come  to.  On  the  Westward  Cruise,  we  weep  on  the 
installment  plan.  A  few  drop  off  at  Cairo;  half  of 
us  drop  off  at  Naples  to  make  overland  trips  across 
Europe ;  a  fraction  disappears  at  Gibraltar  to  meander 
across  Spain;  a  few  score  vanish  at  Southampton,  to 
tour  the  British  Isles ;  and  of  those  who  go  on  to  Ham- 
burg, only  a  little  handful  come  home  on  the  Cleveland. 
This  difference  in  the  finish  is  the  essential  difference 
between  the  two  cruises. 

Do  you  remember  the  feeling  that  came  over  you  as 
you  walked  down  the  gangway  of  the  Cleveland  for 
the  last  time — the  gangway  that  had  been  to  you  the 
royal  highway  into  so  many  strange  cities  of  the 
East?  Then  you  can  understand  something  of  the 
feeling  that  creeps  over  me  as  I  come  to  the  last  little 
chapter  in  this  record  of  the  cruise.  Were  it  a  guide- 
book or  a  mere  book  of  travel,  the  feeling  would  be 
only  that  of  infinite  relief.  But  it  is  a  personal  story 
told  in  a  personal  way,  with  you  before  me  as  dis- 
tinctly as  the  places  about  which  I  have  been  writing. 
And  I  would  not  have  it  otherwise. 

I  am  old-fashioned  enough  to  own  up  to  a  certain 
fondness  for  the  intimate  relationship  between  The 
Author  and  The  Gentle  Reader  that  was  expressed  a 
hundred  or  more  years  ago  in  the  stilted  prefaces  of 
books.  It  was  the  fashion  then,  however,  to  make 
elaborate  explanations  or  apologies  for  having  written 


GOLDEN  GATE  AND  SANDY  HOOK  315 

a  book.  That  spirit  is  far  from  me.  The  writing  of 
books  is  an  excellent  habit,  for  it  keeps  a  man  out  of  a 
lot  of  mischief  between  Chapter  One  and  the  Finis. 
Then,  if  somebody  is  reckless  enough  to  publish  it, 
and  some  other  man  foolish  enough  to  pay  out  good 
money  for  it — their  sins  be  on  their  own  heads !  The 
wretch  whose  name  appears  on  the  title-page  has  sins 
enough  of  his  own  to  answer  for — unless,  perchance, 
the  Recording  Angel  sets  down  to  his  credit  the  things 
that  he  deliberately  left  out  of  the  book! 

There  have  been  times,  Eunice,  as  you  have  been 
gliding  along  on  one  of  these  pages,  when  the  sudden 
lack  of  dignity  has  jolted  you  like  a  stone  in  the  path 
of  your  'rickshaw.  You  are  pained  because  I  have  told 
the  story  in  the  language  that  we  used  on  the  ship,  in- 
stead of  in  the  tongue  of  William  Dean  Howells  and 
James  Lane  Allen.  For  this  I  am  sorry.  But  I  was 
not  always  thus.  Once,  in  the  long  ago,  I  was  the 
bright  particular  star  of  the  grammar  class.  There 
was  every  indication  that  I  should  one  day  be  a  model 
of  correct  speech,  with  a  chaste  and  faultless  style 
that  would  be  quoted  as  examples  for  the  young  to  copy 
in  their  composition  books.  It  makes  me  shudder  now 
as  I  think  of  it! 

But  let  us  skip  back  for  a  moment,  Eunice,  to  the 
"  City  of  Trampled  Flowers."  There  is  a  ghat  there 
on  the  Ganges  called  the  Tulsi  Das  Ghat.  It  is  a 
memorial  to  a  poet  who  is  to-day  much  loved  and  much 
quoted.  Tulsi  not  only  wrote  good  poetry,  but  he 
wrote  it  in  the  vernacular.  And  that  is  the  reason  why 
they  are  reciting  it  all  over  the  land  of  Bengal  to- 


316 


TWICE  AROUND  THE  WORLD 


night,  three  hundred  years  after  he  died, — because  he 
wrote  it  in  the  everyday  language  of  the  people  and  not 
in  the  tongue  of  the  academicians. 

But  I  respect  your  prejudices,  Eunice,  and  I  am 
anxious  that  we  shall  take  leave  of  each  other  in  a 
friendly  way.  I  am,  therefore,  saying  good-bye  to 
you  in  the  way  that  your  soul  loves,  while  I  take  leave 
of  Uncle  Dan,  after  the  manner  of  Tulsi  Das,  in  a 
parallel  column  which  you  will  please  overlook: 


Considering  the  world-cruise 
as  a  whole,  the  unpleasant  as 
well  as  the  pleasant  experi- 
ences, it  was  thoroughly  en- 
joyable. It  is  a  voyage  that 
one  would  gladly  repeat,  even 
though  the  novelty  of  a  first 
experience  in  entering  strange 
ports  would  be  missing  on  an- 
other cruise  of  the  same  gen- 
eral character. 

Moreover,  aside  from  the 
personal  recollections  of  the 
voyage  around  the  world,  it  is 
gratifying  to  know  that  one  is 
regarded  in  the  community  as 
a  person  of  broad  culture  and 
wide  experience  in  travel. 

However,  in  hours  of  calm 
reflection,  it  must  be  confessed 
that  one  is  inevitably  forced 
to  a  realization  of  the  fact 
that,  however  humble,  "  there's 
no  place  like  home  !  " 


Take  it  in  a  lump,  Uncle 
Dan — the  hot  and  the  cold,  the 
sour  and  the  sweet — didn't  we 
have  a  jim-dandy  time?  And 
ain't  it  a  good  feeling  to  walk 
down  the  aisle  of  the  Metho- 
dist Church  on  Sunday  morn- 
ing and  know  that  folks  are 
nudging  themselves  and  say- 
ing :  "  Just  think !  Uncle  Dan's 
been  around  the  world ! " 

And  wouldn't  it  be  great 
fun  to  wake  up  some  morning 
and  read  in  the  Clarion  that 
a  whole  bunch  of  new  worlds 
had  just  dropped  into  the  sea, 
and  the  Cleveland  was  getting 
ready  to  go  around  them  all  ? 

But,  after  all,  when  the  fire 
burns  low  and  Aunt  Susan 
begins  to  yawn  and  you  get  up 
to  put  the  cat  out,  don't  you 
feel  kind  o'  glad  you're  back 
in  good  old  Indiana  ? 


INDEX 


Across  India,  97-172,  25,  31,  17 
Across  Japan,  243-290,   27,  29 
Aden,  24,  31,  96 
Agra,   119-126,  24,   112 
Air  Temperatures,  33 
Akbar's    Tomb,    125 
Algeciras,   63 
Antipodes,  291-296,  27,  28 
Atlantic  Ocean,  32 

Babus,    160 

Banca  Strait,  26,  196 

Banyan  Tree,    163 

Batayia,  197-208,  26,  30 

Bathing    Ghats,    150-152 

Benares,  147-158,  no,  117,  315 

Bilibid   Prison,  216 

Black  Hole,  162 

Bombay,   97-106,    24 

Borneo,  30 

Brooks,  Edward  D.,  292 

Buitenzorg,   207-8,  26 

Burma,    173-180 

Burning  Ghats,  153 

Burns,  Cecil,  106 

Bux,  Professor,  158 

Cairo,  83-92,  24,  31 
Calais,  32 

Calcutta,   159-164,   182 
Canton,  225-242,  29 
Cawnpore,   135-138 
Ceuta,  63 
Ceylon,  25,  30 
Charnock,  Job,  159,  182 
Charybdis,  70,  24 
Chee  Leong,  242 
"  Chilblains,"  233 
China,  221-242,  182,  185 
Colombo,   25,  30 
Columbus,  16,  49,  52,  54 


Commercial  Museum,  252 

Corsica,  23 

Cowes,  32 

Crossing  Equator,   187 

Crossing  iSoth  Meridian,  291 

Curzon,  Lord,   124,   132,   163 

Cuxhaven,  32 

Daibutsu,  256,  267 

Dalai  Lama,   172 

Damiette  Light,  76 

Darjeeling,    165-172 

Deichman,  Carl,  245 

Del  Cano,  Sebastian,  13-20 

Delhi,   127-134 

Dempwolf,  Captain,  305 

Diamond  Harbour,  161,  30,  22 

Diamond   Head,   297 

Distances,  34,  82 

Dover,   32,  33 

Durbar,  128 

Egypt,  75-96 

El  Azhar,  90 

Elba,  23 

English  Channel,  32,  33 

Equator,  187-196,  26,  30 

Fleischmann,  Julius,  292 
Flower  Boats,  237 
Franck,   Harry  A.,  93 
Funchal,   49-56,   23 

Ganges  River,   148,   166 
Geishas,  246,  253 
Germany,    32 
"Geyser,"  278 
Gibraltar,  57-66,  23,  32 
Gordon   Highlanders,    136 
Gray,   Henry  B.,    196 
Great   Moghuls,   125 


317 


318 


INDEX 


Guides,  19,  53,  77,  86,  90,  114, 
116,  242 

"  H.P.C.,"  16,  301 

Hamburg,  39-48,  32 

Happy  Valley,  221 

Hawaii,  297-306,  56 

Hayashi,  Aisaku,  273 

Hearn,   Lafcadio,  268 

Higashi  Hongwanji,  254 

High  Jinks,  187,  291,  237 

Himalayas,  165-172 

Hoboken,  23,  249 

Hong  Kong,  221-224,  26,  29 

Honolulu,  297-306, 16,  27, 28,  50 

Hooghly  River,  22,  in,  161 

Hosainabad,  146 

Hotels,  84,  98,  160,  164,  171, 
199,  205,  230,  250,  254,  262, 
268,  273,  277,  279,  288 

Hough,  Dr.  George  A.,  47,  77, 

255 

Hula    Dance,   303 
Hundred  Steps,  265 

leyasu,   288 
"  Imperator,"  40 
India,   97-172 
Indian  Mutiny,  132 
Inland  Sea,  247-8,  27,  29 
Isle  of  Wight,  32 
Ismailia,    80 
Italy,   69-74 
Itmad-ud-Daulah,  121 

Japan,  243-290 
Java,    197-208 
Johore,  183,  26,  30 
Jordan,  Marcus,   193 

Kadam  Rasul,  142 
Kamakura,  267-8 
Kanchenjunga,  171 
Kashmere  Gate,  133 
Kasuga,  255 
"Kim,"  107-118,  145 
Kipling,  J.  Lockwood,  105 
Kipling,  Rudyard,  97-118,   160, 
179 


Kobe,  249-250,  27,  29 
Kowloon,  225-227,  223 
Kriesz,  George  W.,  198 
Kruse,  Chief  Officer,  22,  292 
Kuechler  Letter,  289 
Kyoto,  251-254 

Lisbon,  32 

Log  of  a  Globe-Trotter,  21-34 
Lody,  Carl,  48,   108 
Lovers'  Tree,   256 
Lucknow,   139-146,   114 

Macao,  29 
Madeira,  49-56,  23 
Magellan,  Ferdinand,  13-20 
Manila,  209-220,  26,  29,  20,  300 
Martini,  A.,  44,  189 
Mecking,   Dr.   L.,  292 
Mediterranean,  57-74,  23,  31, 32 
Menu,  45,  46,  296 
Meridian  180,  291-296 
Messina,  70,  24,  31 
Mileage,  34,  82 
Moanalua,  299 
Moghuls,  125 
Monte  Carlo,  67,  23 
Monte  Cristo,  23 
Moti  Mahal,  143 
Mount  JEtna,  24,  31 
Mount  Everest,  171 
Mount   Sinai,  24,  96 
Mumtaz,    119-124 
Mutiny,  132 

Nagasaki,  243-246,  26,  29,  278 

Nagoya,  261-2 

Naples,  69-74,  32 

Nara,  255-6 

Nationalities,  38 

Neptune,  187-190 

New  York,  38 

Nice,   67 

Nikko,   287-290 

Nisa  Teramachi,  251 

Niwa,  Mr.,  253 

Okamoto  Inn,  280 
Osaka,  257-260 


INDEX 


319 


Pacific  Ocean,  27,  28 
Palace  of  Lights,  146 
Parsees,    99-102 
Pasig    River,    213 
Peacock  Throne,    130 
Pearl  Harbour,  297 
Pearl   River,  225,   233,   237 
Perim,  96 

Philippines,  209-220,  14 
Photography,  309-312,  234 
Pillsbury,   Charles   S.,  292 
Plague,  99 
Port  Said,  76,  24 
Portsmouth,  32 
Puwahi,    Madame,  304 
Pyramids,   88,  24 

Raffles,  Sir  Thomas,  181 
Railways,    79,    107,    166,    207, 

225,  261 
Rameses  II,  92 
Rangoon,   173-180,  26,  30,   113 
Red  Sea,  93-96,  24,  31 
Reggio,  70 
Riviera,   66 

Saddhus,   154 

San  Francisco,  27,  28,  18,  313 

Sara  Ghat,  167 

Sardinia,  32 

Sarnath,  157,  113,  116,  117 

Savage,  Col.  Henry  W.,  258 

Scherer,  Carl,  48,  189 

Scylla,  70,  24 

Shah  Jahan,   119-126 

Shah  Najuf  Tomb,  142 

Shameen,   231 

Shek  Lung,  229 

Sheldon,   Charles,  292 

Shimonoseki,  27,  29 

Shinsaibashi,  257 

Shwe  Dagon,  175 

Sikandra,  125 

Sikandra   Bagh,    141 

Singapore,   181-186,  26,  30 

Southampton,  32 


Spain,   57-66 

Sphinx,  88 

Straits    Settlements,    181-186 

Streets  of  Cairo,  87 

Stromboli,  69,  24,  32 

Suez,  80,  24,  31 

Suez  Canal,  76-82,  24,  31 

Suicide  at  Sea,  190 

Taj  Mahal,  119-126 

Tandjong  Priok,  197,  26,  30 

Tangier,  59,  62 

Tay-ee,  281 

Tel-el-Kebir,  84 

Temperature,  33,  94,  174 

Temple  of  Tirthankers,   116 

Tenrikyo,  259 

Tiger  Hill,    17,  170 

Tokyo,  269-286 

Towers  of  Silence,  101 

Trafalgar,  59,  60 

Treves,   Sir  Frederick,  79,  93, 

94,  138,  157,  269 
Tulsi  Das,  315 
Twain,  Mark,  306 

U.  S.  S.  Colorado,  305 

U.  S.  S.  West  Virginia,  305 

Utsunomiya,  287 

Vesuvius,  71 
Victoria  Peak,  222,  233 
Villefranche,  67,  23 
Vogelsang,  Carl,  48,  189 

Waikiki  Beach,  299,  300 
Weltevreden,  197-206,  27,  30 
White  Cloud  City,  241 
Widows,  36 
Wood,  H.  P.,  302 

Yokohama,  263-266,  27,  29 
Yoshiwara,  275 
Youmie,  281 

Zagazig,  84 
Zargo,   55 


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